


Memory Must Be the Devil

by RobynTko



Series: Such a Simple Thing [1]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergent, F/M, Jamie through the stones, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobynTko/pseuds/RobynTko
Summary: Claire wakes up at the stones with no recollection of the years she spent with Jamie. She tries to fall back into life with Frank, but it feels impossible. She yearns for something she can't remember, and a life she didn't know she had.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: Such a Simple Thing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969087
Comments: 286
Kudos: 238





	1. Through a Pinhole

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas (Jen and Brittany) for blowing enough smoke up my ass for me to feel confident to share, and for fixing my mistakes. You ladies are the best.

It was as though the blackness was pulling her through an abyss. The force of darkness was contradictory, as though the matter around her was heavy, but it propelled her weightlessly forward, drawing her towards a pinhole. 

She awoke on her back, the light blinding as she fluttered her eyes open. She instinctively wrapped her arms around her middle, the confusing despair falling around her as she lay there. It took her a moment to get her bearings. The stones. Where she came looking for flowers. Fingertips came up to her forehead as she rose, sitting uneasily. Her brow wrinkled as she tried to think back. 

She felt utterly broken, torn, but had no recollection of why she should. Curls bounced around her chin as she looked down, noticing the strange clothes covering her body. Her fingers traced the material momentarily, but it was the unfamiliar ring on her finger that caught her attention. She traced the hard, rough surface with her thumb, panic rising in her the longer she looked at it. Shuddering against the cold and trepidation, she was now only interested in getting help. In finding Frank. 

Claire stumbled onto the road a few minutes later, relieved to see a car heading towards her. It stopped a few feet away. 

“Are ye hurt, lass?” called the man as he exited his car.

“No,” but she hesitated when she realized she hadn’t taken stock of how her body felt, “well— uh— I don’t think so.”

“What are you doing out here?” His eyes slid curiously over her attire.

She bypassed his question. “Can you drive me into town please?”

“Of course,” the man said, gesturing her to his car, one of his hands gently landing on her back as he guided her slowly to the passenger seat. Once safely inside, she allowed her focus to return to the ring. She ran her fingers over it again, wondering why it didn’t feel foreign. 

***********************************

She was anxiously looking out of the window of the hospital, watching people bustle about, not a care in the world. The feeling of despair, of melancholy, of loss was unbearable and seemed to become amplified as she waited for Frank to get there. 

The hospital staff hadn’t shared much. They had asked so many questions, but she had the answer to only a few: what year she thought it was, why she was out at the stones, and that her husband was Frank Randall. 

Frank. The thought of seeing him was throwing Claire into unexpected turmoil. He had been her safe place, her rock, the man who shared her memories, and her past. But every time she imagined him walking through that door, there was an inexplicable pang in her heart. It was as though it didn’t belong to him anymore, as though she needed to shield herself from him, from what they had. Something had changed, and that something was too big for her to comprehend. And then, this feeling of being ripped away from something else that was— was—

Claire shook her head, frustrated. Every time she got to that point, there was a block, a wall. She folded her arms and huffed, her attention drifting back to the street. 

She could hear voices down the hall, muffled whispers. “I will tell her when the time is right.” They drifted in and out. “I think that would be best.” … “With all she’s been through.” … “It’s good she has you.”

The radio was playing irritatingly in the background, and she heard footsteps. She didn’t turn to look, assuming it was a nurse coming to check on her. 

“It’s so noisy here,” she said coldly, “and can you turn that bloody thing off, please?”

The music stopped, which did nothing to temper her irritation. She just wanted to be left alone. 

“Claire?”

When she locked eyes with Frank, the pang, the despair, the hurt, everything, came flooding back, but she outstretched her arms for him. It was a familiar face, and one full of love for her.

He came to sit on the bed, their embrace one of desperation. He was an anchor she needed ever since waking up at the stones. She felt adrift, but at least there was one thing holding her back from floating too far.

*********************************

“I told you, I don’t know!” Claire repeated, her voice rising again.

Frank stood behind the armchair in her room, one hand resting on the back, one in a fist, pressing between his eyes. “Alright,” he said, trying to temper her, “I—I just don’t understand how three years can simply vanish from one’s memory.”

Claire pushed out a breath, aggravated. They had been going around in circles. Frank was desperately trying to find answers, but Claire had no way of giving them to him. “I told you, I don’t remember anything. I remember going to the stones that day which, like you said, was three years ago, and I remember waking up there a few days ago, which brings us to now. I want to give you answers, Frank.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I,” a tear slipped from beneath her lashes, “want answers.” 

He moved around the chair, sitting on the edge and reaching over to her. She flinched when his fingers touched her knee through the silk nightgown she was wearing, and he retreated.

“I’m sorry—” she started, but he held his hand up to quiet her.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” she protested. “It’s not alright that I jump at my husband’s touch.” She stood up and began to pace the room. “It’s not alright that I’ve lost three years of my life. That we have lost three years of our marriage. That we don’t have any answers, and I just—” her hands balled into fists, the rage inside her growing as she tried to push the feelings and uncertainty out of her head. 

She felt Frank’s arms wrap around her from behind, and although she jolted involuntarily, she fought the physical rejection from her body and forced herself to push back into him, to let the strength in his arms keep her grounded. But as she fell back towards him, her knees buckled, and he supported her as she collapsed to the floor. She couldn’t hold back what she was experiencing, she needed to be honest. 

They sat on the floor together, her body pooled between his legs, physically drained as she spoke her truth. “I—I don’t want to hurt you Frank. I—I don’t even have anything real to tell you, only feelings, only instinct, but I’m afraid.”

“Of what?” he asked quietly.

“Of pushing you away, when you’re the only one I have left.” She frowned at her own words. She wasn’t afraid of being without Frank anymore, but there was something drawing her to stay with him. There was this nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her to stay close to Frank. 

There was silence for a moment as he took in her words. “There is nothing you can say to me that would make me not want you. For whatever may have happened in the last three years, I forgive you. I still love you.”

Anger bubbled up at his words. She was resentful of them, as though him being graceful should be all she should want, as though he was some kind of uninvited martyr. Her head shook slightly as she tried to suppress that reaction. He was being kind, and understanding, and she tried to be grateful for it. But she wasn’t. “And what about this?” She held her hand up, gesturing to the ring she was wearing.

Frank shrugged, and wavered. “For all we know, it’s a simple piece of jewelry. You’ve been missing for three years, Claire. Anyone could have given that to you, you could have found it. Maybe the person who gave you those clothes, also gave you that ring. There are a million explanations for why that could possibly be on your finger.”

“Then why does it feel so important?”

“If it’s bothering you, take it off.”

She pulled slightly, uncommitting, but stopped. 

“It’s alright.” She could feel Frank deflate behind her. There was an unspoken tension of what this ring could potentially mean. “Take it off when you’re ready. Or keep it on. Maybe—maybe it’ll jog your memory at some point.” 

Claire tried to straighten her spine, but her body refused, and slumped closer to Frank’s chest. “I don’t know what happened to me. I wish I did. I want to know where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing.” She lingered on that thought, trying to dig deeper into her mind’s eye for any clues, but there was nothing, at least nothing clear. “But,” she began tentatively, “I feel,” she searched for a more fitting word, but all she could come up with was, “sad. I feel like I’m missing something, something important. I think wherever I was,” she hesitated, “whoever I was with, was important to me.”

“Perhaps,” Frank said cautiously, “that feeling was you missing me, missing your life here, and you’re still feeling that.”

She knew he was reaching, but she considered it nonetheless. It could be possible. She could have felt lost, alone, afraid, and had been yearning to come back to her life with Frank, and this was the aftershock of it all. She tried to convince herself that this was a solid observation. It was something she wanted to believe, and so she clung to it. 

She nodded slowly. “Perhaps.” She knew that it was what Frank wanted, and she wanted to comfort him, or at the very least, not upset him further. “I’m sure I missed you terribly, wherever I was. I’m sorry for what you’ve had to endure.” The words came out colder than she anticipated.

“It’s not your fault, darling.” He squeezed her tighter to him.

That familiar reluctance coursed through her, and it infuriated her. She was determined to fight against it with all she had. She turned in his arms to look at him. “I want everything to be the way it was before. I want to be us.” She pressed her lips against his. It was the truth, even if not in its entirety. She did want to go back to the way it was. She did want this to feel normal. But if she was being honest with herself, she knew it was impossible. She knew she had changed. She knew that it would never be the same again. 

She pushed him back as she kissed him and climbed on top of his body. He was more than willing as he slid the silk material up to bunch around her hips. Claire fumbled with his belt and button, trying to free him from his pants. Reaching up, he pulled her down to meet his lips again, and she guided him into her. A groan escaped Frank’s mouth, and Claire slammed her eyes shut, conflicting sensations pulsing through her. Physically, she needed the release, she wanted to feel something other than the despair she had been experiencing, but being with Frank only reinforced the wrongness she felt. 

Again, she refused to be controlled by something she couldn’t even remember. It wasn’t fair. The familiarity of Frank’s body helped her find her rhythm on top of him, but when she opened her eyes, seeing him brought up a tingling in her throat. Forcing it down, she closed her eyes again, and rocked against him, centering her mind on the feeling between her legs, the building response in her physical body. 

Behind her eyelids, a red colour flashed, a tousle, like hair, moved through the blackness, and it urged her on. She concentrated on it as Frank flipped her to her back and began driving into her at a faster pace, his mouth on her neck. Giving access to her throat, her head fell back to the floor, her hands roaming over the skin beneath her palms, her mind envisioning broader shoulders, a stronger torso, a firmer buttocks. Grabbing one handful of his hair, and one handful of his arse, she urged him on, the indistinct picture of another man dancing through the darkness in her mind. 

She heard a groan rise from her chest as her body built towards the release she so desperately wanted. The mistake was opening her eyes to meet Frank’s, seeing all the passion, need, and desire in him. The build was fading away. Closing her eyes again, she lifted her hips up to meet his thrusts, more desperate to will her body into wanting this, clinging on to the fleeting images she had seen before, but it was too late. Frank’s body shuddered as his last few thrusts brought him to orgasm, and he collapsed, spent, on top of her. A tear slid from the corner of her eye, her gaze fixated on a painting she hadn’t noticed before. It was of the Virgin Mary. 

Claire waited as he pulled himself from her and shifted to the side. She felt numb, detached. 

Frank draped his arm across her stomach. “I’m sorry. I thought you were close. I—I used to be able to tell—.” His delivery was awkward, but she understood. They used to be in sync. “I can help you,” he said in a low voice, his hand moving deliberately down, looking for the place between her legs. 

Her hand stilled his descent. “No.” It sounded harsh, so she smiled weakly and gentled her voice. “I think I just need a little more time.”

He seemed to accept this, and sighed deeply. “I missed you so much, Claire.”

Staring at the ceiling, she hoped she wasn’t lying when she replied. “I missed you, too.”


	2. Drawing Near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has done her best to settle into her life in Boston, and years have passed. Brianna is in school now, and Claire does her best to focus on her own studies, but the knowledge of those missing pieces taunts her. Perhaps a surprise guest will jog her memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and replying. I'm loving the interest, encouragement, and kindness I've received over the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the rest of the journey.

The weight of her body on the bed seemed impossible to lift. She could hear Frank scurrying about the room, gathering his clothing, sitting down to put on his socks. She kept her eyelids still, wondering if he was looking at her, wondering if he knew how often she feigned sleep when he was in their bedroom with her. 

The familiar soft pounding of his feet heading down the hallway towards Brianna’s room was like a lifted veil as she opened her eyes, but the heaviness didn’t pass. Ever since moving to Boston, she felt like she was waiting for something to happen. She felt stuck in a perpetual state of limbo. Brianna was born in Boston, she learned how to walk, how to talk, and how to tell poorly thought out knock-knock jokes. Claire smiled as the memories passed like a slow flowing river. The smile faded quickly, though, as it always did. 

Sitting up in bed, she steeled herself for the morning, the cordial conversation between her and Frank, the extra cheery tone she would use for Brianna. Every morning she wondered if she would have the energy for either of those things. Her marriage had steadily worsened, and she had considered for a while if they had simply grown apart, but she knew it wasn’t Frank who was pulling away. At first they had blow-outs, complete with angry yelling matches when Claire had pulled her body away from his touch one too many times. His patience was unparalleled, but he had a breaking point. She all but refused to allow him to touch her growing belly when she was pregnant but blamed it on the hormones, hoping that was the truth. The dreams of her reaching for someone in the darkness hadn’t helped, either. They had catapulted her into isolation in her waking hours. Every dream did.

Once Brianna was born, the same instinctual move to withdraw from Frank’s touch remained, only slightly as urgent. She tried, and succeeded, to suppress the physical response, but the internal one seemed cemented. Every time Frank had even a mere intention of touch, Claire’s body pre-rejected it, but with focus, she could withstand it. The better she got at it, the more he tried to touch her, and she wondered how he could be so blind. And then she wondered how she could be so cruel. How could she give Frank only a portion of her now, how could that be enough for him after what they used to have, and why did she still feel like it was right to stay with him? She knew the answer to all of it: Brianna. 

And so, they lived this lie. They lived a life of routine, both of them lighting up when Brianna was there. Claire was sure that Frank thought that she would come around and learn to love him again. She did her best to be open to that possibility. They rarely made love, and if they did, it was polite, formal, and seldom ended in satisfaction for her, though he didn’t know that. She was sick of seeing the hurt on his face every time she didn’t finish. They fought about how she closed her eyes, when she hadn’t before, but when it came down to them having sex however she offered it, or having none at all, the arguing stopped. It had been several months since the last time, and Claire wondered how much longer this would be enough for him. Not just the sex. They used to be able to bond over intellectual conversations, and found that when others were around, they still had that ability. When they were alone, however, the conversations died quickly, no matter the topic. They were broken, and she had no real interest in mending any of it. 

Claire descended the stairs half an hour later, finding Brianna and Frank in the kitchen chatting about school and eating breakfast. Frank had made Claire a plate, which she gestured to before saying, “Thank you.”

He nodded his response, still listening intently to Brianna’s tale of art class the day before. “And then Sally said it didn’t look like a fish, because it was purple, but I said fish can be any colour. Can’t they daddy?”

“Yes, they can.”

Claire sat down after pouring herself a cup of tea and reached over to run a thumb down her daughter’s cheek. “You know, darling, when I was little, and I was traveling all over the world with my uncle, I saw a fish that was so purple I didn’t even think it was real!”

Brianna’s eyes widened as she leaned forward, her red hair falling in her face. “You did? How purple was it?”

“It was so purple I thought maybe it was a flower that had fallen into the water. But then,” she paused for dramatic effect, “it moved!”

Brianna’s jaw dropped, before a sly smile stole over her face. She whispered into her milk as she took a sip, “Wait ‘til I tell Sally.”

Claire leaned back, grinning, taking a sip of her tea, peering over the brim at Frank, who was smiling back. There it was, the one connection strong enough to keep them going. 

They made small chit chat at the table before telling Brianna to go and brush her teeth before school. 

The silence, as always, was uncomfortable for Claire. “I have an extra class this afternoon, so I won’t be able to pick Brianna up.”

Frank waved his hand dismissively, “That’s alright, I can get her.”

Claire nodded appreciatively. Frank stood, put his dishes in the sink, and gave Claire a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, darling.” She felt nothing, and that was an improvement. 

She could hear him saying goodbye to Brianna and telling her, with excitement, that he would be picking her up from school. If nothing else, she was thankful for what an incredible father he was. The memory of him calming her when labor came early with Brianna popped into her head and caused a brief smile. She made a mental note to try and go easier on him. Funny how the disdain and sentimentality came in waves.

********************************************

Claire threw herself into her studies once she was in class. She was always so grateful for the distraction of gaining knowledge. The rest of her life easily fell away as she absorbed new information. Perhaps part of her was trying to fill the void with the new, thinking if she could replace what was lost with new skills, she would feel herself once more. She reveled in it, challenging herself constantly and eagerly. The opportunity to focus on the future, instead of the past, was enticing and comforting.

Something about today felt different, though. She kept looking around expectantly, not knowing what for. Snippets from her dreams over the years seemed to be at the forefront of her mind, and she was irritated at the distraction. For so many months, and ongoing for years, she had experienced dreams, not vivid in nature, but familiar. She would wake up from them with a lingering feeling, whichever it happened to be—sorrow, pain, love, anger, hope, betrayal, longing, lust, desperation—but no explanation or obvious story to go with each feeling. The watercolour pictures would tease her, nothing but patterns, or light, like looking at a memory through a stained glass window. She had been convinced that it was fragments of the time she had lost, and for months spent all her time in bed, especially when she was pregnant, simply praying for a memory to become clearer in her dreams.

So many times she had tried to focus on the images, trying to make them clearer, brighter, to make them last longer, but it failed every time. She had given up on it, but today they were back, daring her to try again. The attempt to push them out of her mind seemed feeble, so she chose the one that felt the most potent. The wall of stone, stairs leading to a great door, an archway, all blurred. A flash of plaid, a whisper by her ear, mo nighean donn. 

When her classmates around her began to bustle, putting their things away, she startled out of the memory. She had never been able to get into that space before, where she could feel and hear what she did, even faintly. She didn’t know what it meant. As she gathered her books, she tried to keep the dream at the surface, but she knew it was fading. The feeling that it was a memory, and not a dream, was more evident, and it excited, yet infuriated her. What was it that was blocking those memories? 

Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she crossed the courtyard, the fall air crisp against her skin. Trying to pursue that one memory, trying to fill in details, Claire dug deep into herself, but the more she tried to grasp it, the farther it seemed to slip. 

“Miss?”

Claire was exasperated.

“Beg your pardon, miss?”

“What?” she said, snapping her head up, the memory popping like a bubble as she did. Doing a double take, she fumbled over her words, “I—I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she didn’t expect this. A tall man, long dark hair, a full beard, dressed in a kilt, complete with a sword in hilt. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t imagine where she would have seen such a man before. 

“Apologies for startlin’ ye, miss.”

“No, that’s quite alright. Can I help you with something?” He was looking at her with intent, as though waiting for her to say or do something. It was unsettling.

“My name’s Murtagh Fitzgibbons, I’m lookin’ for the dean’s office.”

“Oh, of course. I’m Claire Randall,” she held out her hand to shake his, “I’m actually heading that direction now, if you’d like me to show you, Mr. Fitzgibbons.”

“That’ll be fine, then.” He looked across the courtyard and mumbled, “Apologies, mistress.” before whistling to another man, dressed the same way. He shook his head, and then waved him over. “My associate.” He clarified, his grumbled voice growing deeper with disappointment. Claire couldn’t quite understand why. She wondered if she had done something to offend him.

After turning her attention from Murtagh, she watched as his associate walked towards them. He was taller, with bright red hair, a broad stride, but he seemed tentative in his approach. As he drew closer, Claire’s breathing hitched. She could feel Murtagh’s eyes upon her, but she couldn’t look away from this other man. Her entire body seemed to be responding, his piercing eyes bore into her as he walked, his tentativeness turning quickly into restraint. She could see he was purposefully holding himself back from increasing his speed, his feet wanting to move faster, but still he resisted. 

She felt his gaze roam over her whole body, and she could feel it physically against her skin. It was as though until this moment, her body had been asleep and his presence was pulling her from that slumber. Pins and needles caressed their way from the tip of her toes to the crown of her head, warming her, somewhat uncomfortably, as it moved through her. Once his eyes came back to meet her own, the depth of them felt like a black hole, but one she would have gladly fallen into, if only to not leave the feeling it was igniting within her. There was a passion behind them, a power, a knowing. 

Claire involuntarily shook her head, the confusing desire still pulsing through her. Trying to collect herself, a shame took hold. Once he stood before her, they both stared at each other. She could feel an electricity between them, such as she had never felt before. It unnerved her. It breathed life into her. Embarrassment swept over her again, and she forced her eyes away after what felt like an eternity of looking into his. She was thankful when Murtagh spoke. 

“This is my associate, James Fraser.”

James bowed slightly before holding out his hand, his eyes still scanning her face. 

“Jamie,” she whispered, not recognizing her own voice as his name passed her lips. 

James and Murtagh exchanged quick glances before looking back at Claire.

Noticing his hand still suspended in air, Claire quickly reached her hand out to meet his. “I’m sorry—James—erm, Mr. Fraser.” But she jumped when their skin touched, a familiarity mixed with a deep sorrow bubbling up from within her. She could feel her flesh tingling where they touched.

James’ breath came out in a rush, one side of his mouth curling up as he seemed to gather himself. “Jamie’ll do jus’ fine, miss.”

“Claire, please.” Her voice was no louder than a hum. She didn’t know if she was more desperate to banish how she felt, or to feel it deeper, feel it fully. It took more effort than expected when she pulled her hand from his, and she shivered when the touch was broken. “Erm, I’ll show you to the dean’s office, then.”

She felt raw, exposed, and couldn’t stop herself from glancing back. Jamie’s eyes were on her as she walked, and as confused as she was, she was already dreading reaching their destination. She wanted the hurricane of emotions to stop, but for some reason, couldn’t imagine having to leave his presence. Trying to stop herself from spiraling, she began asking questions. “So, what brought you here to Boston?”

It was Murtagh who answered. “We travel ‘round doing, what they call, a dramatic reenactment of the Battle of Culloden, as well as events leadin’ up to it.”

A stab in her chest nearly halted her in place, and she stumbled slightly. Jamie’s hands reached out to steady her. “Ye alright, Claire?”

She straightened quickly and resumed her pace, his hands dropping away. The feeling of loss replaced them again. “Fine, yes, thank you.” She hurried to continue the conversation. “That must be very,” she searched for the word, “intense.”

“Aye,” Murtagh responded, “can be at times.” He cleared his throat. “We do other things as well, traditional dancin’,” he patted his sword, then faltered, “and, other highland traditions and such.”

Jamie interjected. “We started in Scotland, but word got ‘round, and we started getting invitations from other colleges and universities. We’ll be doing our presentation tomorrow evenin’ in the History department if you’d like to see fer yerself.”

Claire’s heart began to hammer at the thought of being able to see Jamie again. She tried to dismiss the thought. “It’s just the two of you? Doing a reenactment of an entire battle?”

Jamie smirked, and Claire’s stomach flipped. His eyes met hers, and she could see his face soften at her gaze. “Aye. We do a retellin’ of what it was like from our side. Scots have quite the gift for storytellin’. I suppose if we weren’t good at it, we’d no get invited.”

Murtagh grumbled.

“Do you not enjoy it, Mr. Fitzgibbons?”

“Tis’ fine enough,” he said flatly, that same look of disappointment on his face as before. 

“Ignore him. He tries to stay in character.”

She smiled weakly as they neared the dean’s door. “I hope I don’t sound too forward, but, is there any chance that we could have all met somewhere before?” She rushed on, feeling foolish. “You both just seem so familiar.” She couldn’t say “look”, as that wasn’t what was giving her the inclination. It was how she felt, how they felt.

They exchanged that knowing glance between them again, both deflating slightly, before Jamie replied. “Aye, lass, perhaps. But, I think if ye’d met two braw Scottish men, dressed in kilts, and couldna place them straight away, probably not.”

Claire flushed slightly. “I suppose you’re right.” She stopped outside the office. “Well, here we are.” She paused, wanting just one more moment. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

It felt physically painful to turn away. Every molecule in her body was screaming at her to stay near them. The draw she felt was overwhelming, but walking away was even more so. Jamie’s voice stopped her. 

“Will ye come tomorrow night, then?”

She turned back slightly. “I’ll, erm, I’ll have to check with my husband.” She was filled with both regret and relief when she mentioned Frank. 

Jamie nodding gave her feet permission to move away, and this time she did so swiftly. Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest that she could feel it in her ears. She rounded a few corners, not knowing where she was trying to get to, until she found an empty nook in an abandoned corridor. Her back hit the wall and she exhaled sharply. Small whimpers began escaping her lips, and her legs began to shake. She allowed her body to slide slowly down, her books slipping from her arms to the floor. 

She didn’t know how to absorb the intensity of what she had just experienced. It was beyond comprehension and logic. It defied her beliefs, her goals, her existence, but the parallel in emotions between what she had just felt and how she felt waking up at the stones was impossible to ignore. She didn’t know if she could bear it, or escape it. Nor did she know if she wanted to.


	3. Pulling the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire leaves Frank and Brianna at home to go and watch the reenactment that Jamie and Murtagh are presenting. She feels confused and excited at the thought of seeing them again. Will it be everything she hoped for?

Claire sat in front of the mirror in her room. Her eyes were distant as she stared at the carpet in the reflection. She imagined showing up on campus and seeing Jamie. She could see him clearer than she thought possible having only spent ten minutes with the man. The red in his hair was vibrant in her mind, as was everything else: the blue in his eyes, his intensity, the way his shoulders looked when he turned and walked. 

There was a lurch in her stomach as her imagination watched him move his way towards her through a crowd of people, his gaze honed in only on her. She could see his lip curl slightly on one side of his mouth. 

“Mama!” Brianna squealed, running into Claire’s bedroom and climbing straight onto her lap. 

Claire snapped out of her fantasy and wrapped her arms around her daughter’s small frame. “Hello, my darling girl. Are you almost ready for bed?”

Brianna nodded, readjusting herself on her mother’s knees before reaching to touch all the items spread out on the vanity. “Yes. I brushed my teeth, I have my pajamas on, and Daddy said he would read me ten books.”

“Three books,” Frank corrected, leaning against the doorframe. 

Claire glanced at him in the mirror before nuzzling her nose into Brianna’s hair and holding her tighter. “Have sweet dreams, darling.”

“I will.” Brianna replied as she flicked a powder brush along her cheek. “But only if Daddy reads me ten books.”

Frank chuckled. “Why don’t you go get Mr. Snigs and crawl into bed, and we’ll talk about it in a minute?”

Claire frowned. “Mr. Snigs?”

Brianna nodded attentively. “Yes. He said there were too many Mr. Rabbits. He wanted to be more horizontal.”

“Horizontal?” Claire laughed, before deciphering her meaning. “Do you mean original?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “Well, look at you using all those big words. So, what does Snigs mean?”

Brianna hopped off her mother’s lap, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. She turned to Claire and shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just his name.” She crossed the room, but stopped when her mother called her back.

“Bree?”

“Yes?” she asked sweetly.

Claire held her hand out and after a scowl, Bree went back and placed the makeup brush in her mother’s palm. Claire folded Bree into her arms, kissing all over her face until she squirmed away. “Love you.”

“Love you!” Bree yelled over her shoulder as she ran out of the room.

Claire sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to come tonight?”

Frank nodded. “Yes. I am really exhausted from exams this week, and I have papers to grade.”

Claire felt relieved. She knew she didn’t want him to come in the first place, but it felt wrong not to invite him to something that was right up his alley. Reenactment of a historical event? She didn’t think it would be something he would pass up. 

He did question her on why she wanted to go, to which she had given a panicked answer she only vaguely recalled. She kept trying to convince herself that she was interested in the topic and to a point she was. 

When Murtagh and Jamie had mentioned the Battle of Culloden she had been intrigued, almost pained by the reference, though she had limited knowledge of the battle itself. It took until that afternoon to finally admit to herself that she was going to explore the feelings of intensity they stirred up in her. She wanted to know if she would have the same response around them. No longer in denial, she knew this would be playing with fire, but she needed to know.

“I understand.” She knew it was insincere, but hoped it didn’t deliver that way. What she meant was that she didn’t care, and she was grateful that he didn’t want to accompany her. 

“You go have fun. Maybe you’ll learn something I didn’t know and you can tell me all about it!”

His enthusiasm was annoying, but she knew he was trying to encourage her. Claire scarcely left home, save to go to school or bring Bree somewhere. She was often studying or puttering around the house or garden. She didn’t have many friends and when she did attempt to make some, it was her own lack of interest in the conversations that stopped the relationships from flourishing. Whenever she got to a point of having to get closer to someone, to open up, she fell short. This feeling that she needed to protect a secret, but not knowing what the secret was, created an invisible, but nearly tangible, boundary between her and everyone else, including Frank. 

She looked up into the mirror to reply to him, but he had gone. 

*********************************

Claire pulled her gloves off as she walked across the quad. It was a chilly evening, but her palms were clammy. This was her second lap around the campus and her second time approaching the history department doors. Swallowing hard, she turned around again, but hesitated. The commentary in her head was beginning to overpower her resolve. What was she trying to gain from going? What if she was disappointed? What if she wasn’t? Should she be doing this to Frank? Was she even doing anything wrong? Why did it feel deceitful? 

With her back to the doors, she shoved her gloves in her jacket pocket and dropped her head, wavering. 

“You heading in, love?”

A man behind her held the door open and she nodded at him, ignoring the nagging feeling of uncertainty. Climbing the stairs, she knew she was late. The extra time she spent walking around trying to build her determination had caused tardiness, which she despised. 

She reached the next set of doors and took a deep breath before entering. A few people close to the entrance turned to scowl at her interruption, but otherwise there was a hush over the whole crowd. There was barely enough room to squeeze in, all the chairs were filled, and there were over a dozen people standing in the outer aisles, everyone staring fervently forward. She shuffled to the side, finding a corner where she could lean against the wall, her eyes focusing on the two men at the front, the twinge in her heart becoming less surprising in their presence. 

Claire understood immediately why everyone seemed enamored. Jamie and Murtagh stood, side by side, their swords drawn and held up above their heads. They spoke with such fluidity, explaining the chaos around them, their words like poetry as they painted a picture of what it was like to be standing in that field during that battle. Their portrayal was raw and believable, the hurt on their faces as they described their friends falling beside them, brothers in arms losing their lives in front of their eyes.

Within minutes, Claire’s face was wet with tears, as were many faces in the crowd. At one point, a man stood and brought his chair over for Claire. As embarrassed as she felt knowing a stranger could visibly see her struggle, she accepted and sat, her legs trembling. As the story progressed, Murtagh’s character fell, he was injured and lay bleeding on the battlefield.

Jamie held his sword high, using Murtagh now as an example of the last redcoat he was fighting, they moved their weapons slowly and methodically, describing each and every move, and how this one was personal. Jamie’s character knew this man, his name was Black Jack. Claire jolted into her memory with Frank when he was explaining a man from his lineage, Black Jack Randall. She thought it was such an odd coincidence, but the thought dissolved as she watched the story unfold. Jamie ran his sword through Black Jack before falling back onto a pile of bodies, with the redcoat falling onto him.

Jamie scanned the audience and found Claire. He was standing now, quiet, but his character was nearly dead and in a heap of corpses in everyone’s collective mind. He didn’t take his eyes off of her as he spoke his last words. “I was there past nightfall. The snow began to drift down from the blackened sky. I could hear the sound of redcoats searchin’ for any Scottish survivors, then the sounds of their blades piercin’ flesh and the rush of staggered breath leavin’ their lungs for the last time. I was prepared to die there. I tried to die there.” He paused, Murtagh standing with his head bowed behind Jamie. “That’s when I saw her. She wore a white dress and walked toward me. She stood o’er me, touched my cheek, and asked me if I was alive.”

Claire blinked tears into the paths that marred her smooth skin. She could hear sniffling in the silence around her. Jamie broke his stare and engaged the audience, drawing people into his story once more. Claire felt like she was drifting underwater. The rest of his performance lasted only a short while, but she couldn’t hear it any longer. The sharpness of his words, the veracity, it cut her deeply. She could see herself there, could see him there. It was an impossibility to remind herself that it was a reenactment. It pulled her into this space where time didn’t exist, and there was only Jamie, only pain, and truth in his words alone. 

She was grateful when the presentation had ended. Applause rang out, and many people around her stood, but she couldn’t. Many minutes passed by, the applause died, and people began mingling. Hushed voices spoke of how incredibly believable their act was. Some spoke about the dancing at the beginning, others of the games they had described, but Claire was lost, voices drifting in and out all around her, but she was still in that field. The more she thought of it, the clearer it got. She could see it, not littered with bodies, or soaked with blood, but covered in green, surrounded by rolling hills, and if she shifted her perspective, she could see the stones. Maybe it felt so familiar because it was so close to where her life had changed so drastically. She thought that must be the connection, that must be why she felt so affected by it. It was just that simple. 

Not realizing how much time had passed, she flinched when Jamie said her name, before being cloaked with a feeling of peacefulness. Claire’s face was soft, a smile didn’t feel quite fitting under the circumstances, though she beamed on the inside watching him approach her. She noticed then that there were only a handful of people left, most of them now surrounding Murtagh.

Claire braced herself before standing, her legs still rebelling against her will. “Jamie!” It came out overenthusiastically, and she cursed under breath. She crossed her arms, one of her hands grasping at the opposite elbow. “That was quite a performance.”

Jamie blushed slightly. “Thank ye. Judging by the faces in the crowd tonight, perhaps we did get a wee bit carried away, eh?”

Claire absentmindedly brushed her fingers against her cheek wondering how obvious it was that she, too, had been crying. “You two are very convincing in the role. It felt like you had traveled here straight from the past to tell us all about it.”

“Well,” Jamie said quickly, “maybe we did. Maybe I’m a ghost.”

Claire smirked and tilted her head at him. “I really couldn’t imagine what those men would have gone through, to go into a battle they were destined to lose, to have it be the end of the highland culture, I—” Her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed, blinking back the tears welling up in her eyes again. 

“Aye. I’m sure it was verra difficult. But there have been many wars since, and I’m sure there are more wars to come.” He quieted. “We all have our own wars we fight every day, too. Sometimes those can feel just as devastatin’.”

Claire stared at him as he spoke into her soul. His words echoed into the chambers of her heart, like he was trying to communicate more than a metaphor. The reverberation threatened to dismantle all of her defenses in that moment. She was ready to crumble, to become a puddle. Everything she had been holding on to, everything that had built up in all the years since the stones came pushing up against her walls like a wave of water ready to flow over and break apart the dam she had spent so much time building.

A tear slipped from beneath her lashes, her hand moving up quickly to stop its descent, but Jamie’s hand caught hers. They locked their gaze, her eyes switching focus to each of his eyes, wondering if one would reveal the meaning behind them. His other hand moved up slowly, carefully, pausing before he brushed her skin, silently asking her permission. She didn’t move away, didn’t even have another thought, other than the one screaming for his touch. His thumb grazed her flesh, wiping the tear from her cheek and lingering, before falling back down. “I’m sorry, lass, I didna mean to upset ye.”

Claire blushed before forcing a temporary smile and pulled her hand from his. “No, I’m sorry. You just gave such a convincing performance. It was very moving. I can see why you are in such high demand.” The spell had been broken. 

Jamie grinned coyly. “Ye woulnda be sayin’ such if you had seen Murtagh do his sword dance. He’s rubbish at it.”

“I heard that.” Murtagh appeared holding three glasses and a bottle of whisky. “Ye’ll have a quick dram with us, then?”

“Oh,” Claire hesitated, “I don’t know.” She scanned the now empty room.

“Come now, lass, ‘tis tradition that we have a toast after our first performance in a new city.”

Claire nodded. “Well, if it’s tradition.”

“Didna take much convincin’ ye.”

Claire rolled her eyes and took her glass from him; the feeling of familiarity was ever present now.

They toasted to a successful performance and drank. Murtagh poured them another, and the three of them fell easily into conversation. Claire asked questions about the war, and about life back then. She was impressed with how knowledgeable they both were on the time period, and how they had made a career out of such a thing. They spoke about current affairs, and why she had moved to Boston in the first place. 

Claire was holding her third whiskey when she glanced at a clock on the wall. “Oh, no, is that the time?”

Jamie glanced over his shoulder. “I suppose so.”

“I’m sorry, I should get going. Thank you so much for the drinks.” The liquid in her drink swayed as she set her glass down.

Murtagh nodded.

Jamie picked up the coat Claire had draped over a chair and held it up for her, assisting her as she slid her arms in. “I hope we didna keep you from anythin’ important. I hope your husband is no worried.”

Claire scoffed. “No, he won’t be. He will be asleep. My daughter, however, has a tendency to need a glass of water at precisely 12:08 every night.”

“Daughter,” Jamie whispered, nearly inaudibly. 

“Mm,” Claire mused as she readjusted her silk scarf around her neck. “My husband is harder to wake than the dead, so when she calls, I like to be there.”

Jamie cleared his throat, visibly shaken. “You—you have a daughter?”

Claire nodded proudly, but replied tentatively. “Do you have any children?”

Jamie smiled sadly. “I did. ‘Tis no a tale I’ll be boring you wi’ tonight.”

Claire felt as though a cold dagger had run through her. The pain in his voice was piercing. 

“What is she like, your daughter?”

Claire glowed when she spoke. “She’s incredible. Smart, sassy, witty. She has red hair, not unlike your own, actually.” Her eyebrows dipped at the connection. “She has tons of energy, she’s curious, mischievous. She’s the most wonderful thing in the world.”

Jamie stared at her intensely for a moment, nodding slowly before asking, “What is her name?”

“Brianna.”

“Brianna,” Murtagh repeated. “What a terrible name for a wee lass.”

Claire started laughing, completely unperturbed by his outburst. “It is not. It’s beautiful.”

“I suppose,” Jamie said, a grin creeping up on his face, “she was named after someone called Brian?”

Claire nodded. “Yes. Well,” she frowned, “that is what I told my husband when she was born. I—I wasn’t sure why I felt so strongly about the name, it just felt,” she got lost in the memory for a moment, “imperative. I told him I liked that it was the feminine version of the name Brian. He didn’t seem to mind.”

Jamie bowed his head slightly. Murtagh reached over to put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and squeezed slightly before breaking the silence once more. “We’ll walk ye out, lass, jus let me get the dean. He told me to fetch him to lock up before we left.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she called after Murtagh, but he didn’t turn back and disappeared out the door.

“We can’t be lettin’ ye walk alone at night, Claire. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we didna get you to your car safely?”

Claire nodded and pulled her jacket tighter, reaching for the buttons, her gloves dropping to the floor with the movement. She and Jamie stooped down simultaneously to get them, his shoulder clumsily knocking into Claire’s chest during the descent causing her to fall backwards. He reached out to grab her, both of them falling to the ground, Jamie half on top of her, gracelessly trying to hold his body up so as not to crush her. They landed with a thud, Jamie’s knee coming to rest between her legs, Claire holding herself up with one arm behind her, the other clutching Jamie’s forearm. 

Their eyes connected and they both began to laugh. 

“I’m sae sorry, Claire, are ye hurt?”

Claire was still giggling. “Only my pride, and my arse will be a little bruised in the morning, I think.”

Jamie smiled, pulling her up to a sitting position, their faces only inches from each other when he did so. Her grin faded and she could feel the heat of his body radiating out to surround her. A warmth spread through her, that feeling of awakening overtaking her again. She felt a spark of sexuality she hadn’t felt in years, stirred up feelings she had long since forgotten. She felt a pulse between her legs, a want, a tension, a desire beyond her readiness. Their lips were mere inches apart now, and she licked hers eagerly. He watched, transfixed, as her tongue slowly flicked out the invitation. She could feel the pull of him, like the way the moon gently manipulated the tide. And they froze.


	4. Craving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's body is awakening after spending time with Jamie. She is craving him in her dreams, and in her waking moments.

She was barely conscious as she lay there, the coolness in the air breathing like a whisper on her skin. She could sense movement, her eyes still heavy with sleep and the dream she couldn’t quite fall back into, but wasn’t completely free of. His warm fingertips moved at leisure, feathering a trail from her bare hip down to her thigh.

Her breathing deepened before she could fully awaken, not sure when the first touch had happened. The warm wetness between her legs mingled with another. It was slightly cooler, but only for a moment until it matched the heat of her. With eyes still closed she was roused from her dream completely, now aware of the feeling, of the touch. His large hand grasped her thigh, above her bent knee, moving it up and over to allow his mouth more access to her. His tongue worked methodically against her most sensitive area, and she arched into the feeling. A hand found its way up to her breast, goosebumps rising to the surface of her flesh as her whole body responded.

She reached down and wound her hand into his red, tangled curls, urging him to continue the pursuit. Her eyes opened slightly and she looked down, seeing him watching her, his mouth enticing her body towards climax. 

The first knock at the door was ignored. Whoever it was could wait, she needed him to keep going, she was desperate for the release his teasing promised her. She wrestled with the idea of stopping him, wanting him inside her, but it felt too euphoric to stop. A small squeak escaped her parted lips. She fought for air as he seemed to be stealing her ability to breathe with every lick, every suck, every flick.

With the second knock, her head came off the pillow, and she narrowed her eyes towards the door. 

“No,” she heard him say as he grasped her arse and pulled her body down the bed, and, “no!” a second time as his muffled voice disappeared between her legs again. 

The knocking increased, and there was a voice to accompany it now, but Claire let it drift away. Her hand reached for the wall above her head as she pushed herself down to his mouth, begging for release. The room began to spin, and she could feel herself slipping off the edge of pleasure…

Claire’s eyes shot open, the throbbing of her clit waking her up out of her dream. Her hand moved down absentmindedly, but she stopped herself, her other hand grasping the pillow beside her head. She thought for sure she would orgasm instantly if her fingers even grazed the fabric of her underwear. She glanced over at Frank who was quietly snoring, a soft, wheezing sound escaping with every exhale. 

She thought about touching herself, allowing that peak, but the idea of waking Frank, even if it was over quickly, wasn’t something she was interested in. Glancing at the clock, she knew it was over an hour before his alarm would go off, and she took the opportunity to sneak out of bed. 

Claire found herself in the bathroom, towel in hand, latching the lock on the door. Slipping out of her silk nightie, she started the bath, the water gliding over her fingers as she adjusted the temperature. Normally, she would have added bubbles and busied herself as the tub filled up, but this wasn’t what she needed this morning. 

The porcelain was cold against her skin as she climbed in. She could still see Jamie so clearly in her mind as his piercing blue eyes looked up at her while he pleasured her. Even Murtagh pounding on the door was clear, and she was resentful for his interruption, but knowing it was her subconscious that had conjured him. 

She slid herself down, spreading and draping her legs over the sides of the tub, head resting comfortably in the shallow water. Making contact with the running water jolted her, and she moved away involuntarily. Edging back, the second attempt was easier, and she positioned herself efficiently. Relief overtook her and her body relaxed as the water rushed against her most sensitive spot. Her mind wandered back to her dream—her hand grabbing at his hair, his tongue lapping against her, the throbbing sensation and build up in her body.

The water was steadily rising and covered her ears, the echo of the room falling away into muted tones. She could hear herself breathing now, it was labored as she lifted her hips toward the sensation. A whimper rose from her throat, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she imagined Jamie’s hands on her body, searching for her breasts as he tasted her fully. 

She could feel herself on the brink of climax now, and though she didn’t want the fantasy to end, she was desperate for satisfaction. Claire couldn’t help but allow herself to fall into the ecstasy that overtook her body. Her hands reached for the sides of the tub. She pulled herself up and out of the water as she shook, her mouth falling open, involuntary gasps accompanying each wave of her orgasm. Jamie’s face was in her mind, with a half smile on his face like he was pleased with himself. As her climax subsided, she let herself slip back into the water again, pulling her legs in with her, her arms draped across her middle.

Her thoughts began to wander back to a few days before, when she had gone to watch the reenactment. She remembered Jamie helping her to her feet after they had almost kissed. Still now, she couldn’t quite figure out who had stopped the kiss from happening. Was it her that pulled away? Was it him? Was it both of them? Or had there not actually been an almost kiss at all? Was it her imagination that they were in such an inappropriate predicament? Maybe it was more innocent than she had perceived. They hadn’t spoken about it, other than Jamie apologizing, but she assumed that was for the clumsy fall to the floor. 

It was still in her head as she toweled off and pulled on a housecoat, and more so when she dressed and went downstairs. She replayed the events again as she lit the burner for the tea kettle and pulled out mugs. Jamie and Murtagh had walked her to her car, said goodnight, and that was it. Nothing more. But she couldn’t shake that nagging feeling that she had done something wrong. Would Jamie say the same? 

She shook her head, pushing the image away. These dreams weren’t helping to clear her conscience. If it was so innocent, why had she been dreaming of him ever since? Why was her subconscious mind urging her to explore the sexual feelings she had for him? The connection from the beginning was strong and overwhelming. Then, when her lips lingered inches from his it was like holding two dancing magnets, reaching for each other, at bay. 

But they hadn’t kissed, she reminded herself again. She did nothing wrong. 

She jumped when Frank put his hand on her shoulder. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Frank smirked. “Sorry, darling, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Well, you did!” She cursed herself as the words came out. They were sharp. “I’m sorry.” She ran a hand through her wet hair, “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Again?” Frank mused. “Ever since you went to that reenactment you’ve been having trouble sleeping. Is it nightmares?”

Claire shrugged as she blushed. “Something like that, I suppose.” He was quiet so she rushed on. “I guess it affected me more than I initially thought.”

“Well,” Frank said, reaching for the paper and settling into a chair at the table, “history does have a way of haunting us. Even years after the fact, we can still be wounded by it.”

They both paused as his words lingered. She knew he was thinking of the years she was gone, and now, so was she. The silence was piercing. 

Claire busied herself making tea, pouring the hot water before the kettle had a chance to whistle. Placing a cup in front of Frank, she took the seat opposite him. 

They sat in stillness for a time, nothing but the rustling of his paper filling the quiet. Claire gazed out the window, watching the birds searching in the grass for food. Eventually her focus shifted back to Frank, and she stood. “I’m going to go get Brianna up.”

“Alright.” He took a sip of his tea. “Oh!” he added, putting down his paper. “I invited those men for dinner tomorrow night.”

Claire frowned. “What men?”

“The men from the reenactment. Mr. Fraser and uh—Mr. Fitzgibbons? I ran into them on campus yesterday and asked if they had another presentation. They said they had just completed the last one. I was disappointed, because you spoke so highly of it.”

Claire could feel the flush rising in her cheeks.

Frank continued, oblivious. “I asked if they would come for dinner before leaving town, and they agreed. I think it will be quite an interesting evening, don’t you?”

Claire nodded, and all she could force out was a soft, “Hmm.” 

“Let me know what you’d like to have,” Frank included, turning back to his paper, “I’ll pick up the ingredients on the way home from work today.”

Claire nodded before hurrying out of the kitchen. When she reached the stairs, she had to grab the rail to steady herself. There was a panicked ringing in her ears. The man she just fantasized about all morning, the one she couldn’t resist being drawn to, the one that stirred up her deepest emotions had just been invited to her house. By her husband. Her legs shook as she climbed the stairs, and all that escaped her lips was a whispered, “Shit.”


	5. The Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's anticipation reaches a peak when Murtagh and Jamie show up for dinner, at Frank's request. Will there be enough scotch?

She pulled Brianna’s door shut with a soft click and felt a flutter in her heart when she heard voices downstairs. Standing at the top of the stairs, she steadied herself against the bannister. Every time she imagined how this night would go, it ended with her lips inches from Jamie’s, and though she knew that absolutely could not happen, nor would she allow it to happen, her imagination insisted otherwise. 

Claire gulped uncomfortably once she reached the landing and made her way towards the voices in the living room, praying to whoever was listening for the grace and courage to make it through this evening. 

“Claire, darling!” Frank said, his laugh from whatever she had missed still fresh on his face. He already had a glass in his hand, the bottom filled with whisky. He skirted the room and placed his hand on the small of her back. “You remember Jamie and Murtagh.”

She assumed they had already exchanged niceties where they had insisted upon using first names. Frank was nothing if not polite, so for him to be so informal, they must have already had that discussion. Claire also noted their attire. No longer in their kilts, they both had fitted suits, nothing overly fancy, but they looked dashing. Although it was what most men wore, it was similar to what Frank had on in fact, she couldn’t quite understand why something felt a little out of place, a little different.

Claire nodded, smiling. She reached out to shake their hands. “Of course I remember; how could I forget?”

Shaking Murtagh’s hand felt warm and familiar, but shaking Jamie’s ignited a burn in her. The one she felt in the mornings after he visited her in her dreams, after he had kissed every inch of her skin, demanded the taste of her mouth, and her…. She pulled her hand away, hoping the blush in her cheeks wasn’t as evident as it felt. His eyes were still on her, pushing past the barrier to her soul. She felt exposed. 

Frank clasped his hands together. “Let’s get you a drink, my dear.” 

She was thankful for her husband’s lack of notice in how Jamie affected her. Cursing under her breath, she vowed to hold it together, to not allow herself to be so affected. It wasn’t fair to Frank, the man she was married to, that she had such indecent thoughts of a man she barely knew. Guilt rose up in her again. The fact that she knew she preferred Jamie’s presence over Frank gave her a sudden annoyance. How dare he. It was simply her imagination playing tricks on her about this man, not the actual man. Of course she was attracted to him, but the lack of passion in her own marriage had to be what was triggering these thoughts. If she got to know him better, she wouldn’t be as interested. It was most often the dream of what a man could be to someone, not who that man is, which makes one enamored. 

She tipped her chin up in quiet defiance, confident in the conclusion of her thoughts. She would be professional, kind, and polite, all the things she was to any person who visited her home. Taking the drink from Frank, she thanked him before taking a sip. 

They all chose a seat in the living room, the fireplace crackling and a soft record playing in the background. 

Jamie was the first to speak. “Where is yer daughter?”

Claire answered, “Sleeping. I just put her to bed before you got here.”

“That’s why we asked you to come a little later for dinner,” Frank added. 

“Ah, I see.” Jamie sighed. The glance he shot Murtagh didn’t escape Claire. “I was lookin’ forward to meetin’ her. Ye both spoke so fondly of her.”

Claire smiled, perpetually softened at the mention of Brianna. “We thought it best to have her in bed as she would have never gone to sleep otherwise, knowing there were guests in the house. She would be in here chatting away until the sun came up. There would be no adult conversations to be had, I assure you.”

“Och,” Jamie muttered. “Well, I’m sad we missed meetin’ her.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a neatly wrapped box. “We brought her a wee gift.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that.”

“‘Tis nothin’. Just a trinket Murtagh found in Edinburgh before we left. Thought she might like it.”

Claire reached out to take it, her fingers brushing his sent a flutter to her heart that she quickly stifled. “Thank you, that’s so thoughtful. I’ll be sure to let her open it in the morning. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Murtagh nodded. “We brought ye this, as well.” He reached down beside him and handed Frank a bottle of Scotch. “We dinna mind this fine whisky, but we wouldna mind if ye cracked this open as well.”

They all laughed, and Claire felt lighter. 

As the night went on, the energy changed. It felt comfortable, amiable. She was thankful that they fell into something that didn’t feel overwhelming. Frank asked many questions about the Battle of Culloden, about the history around that time, and was fascinated with their knowledge on the subject. Claire, too, was enamored by their stories. They spoke of the past with such passion and grace, humbled by the interest from them both. 

They moved into the kitchen once the roast was finished cooking, and Claire found herself sitting across from Jamie at their small table, doing her best to not stare back when she caught him looking at her. 

“So,” she said through her bites, “how much longer are you planning to stay in Boston?”

Frank was busying himself with refilling everyone’s drinks, though none of them really needed more. They had made their way through most of the bottle of Scotch Murtagh had insisted upon opening. 

Jamie spoke up. “We are leavin’ tomorrow, actually.”

Claire’s heart sunk in her chest, and an indescribable panic rose up in its place. “Tomorrow? Oh— that’s awfully soon.”

“Aye,” Murtagh answered, “‘tis. We’ve been here for nearly two weeks. ‘Tis time to move on.”

“Where are you off to next?” Claire asked, doing her best to keep her tone level.

“Home.” Jamie said, his eyes locking with hers. 

“Scotland?” Claire whispered.

“Aye,” he responded, his blue eyes still boring into her with intent.

It was as if he was trying to communicate with her, to tell her something, but she didn’t understand what. She felt like she was on the outside of a secret, but didn’t know how to be let in.

“You—” Frank clearing his throat and gesturing for the potatoes snapped Claire out of her trance. She passed them to him before continuing on. “You—erm—sorry,” she stumbled, forgetting what she was saying. “You don’t have more colleges in the country asking for your services?”

“Oh, aye, we do,” Murtagh interjected. “But we have other commitments back in Scotland that need tendin’.”

“I see,” Claire whispered. “Families and such?”

“Aye,” Jamie confirmed. “I have a boy, Fergus, I promised him I wouldna be gone for too long.”

The hair on Claire’s arms rose at the sound of the name. Then she frowned. “I thought you mentioned before that you had no children.” She bit her tongue too late. She remembered the conversation and the hurt behind his eyes when he told her he didn’t have children anymore. But she was still curious. The pain was visible in him still. 

“He’s no mine by blood, but I love him like he is. He’s stayin’ wi’ my sister, Jenny, until I return. If I…” he trailed off, stopping himself from oversharing. Claire wondered why.

“What about his biological family?”

“He was an orphan when I met him. A sprightly kid, full of mischief, but cunnin’, ye ken? My wife and I took him in, and we were happy. For a time.” 

There he went again, drifting off into another time, into another world. She wished she could follow him there, to understand what he was hiding, and why.

“Your wife?”

Jamie beamed. “She was so fond of the boy. They needed each other, ye ken?” His smile faded. “My wife and I were in Paris when—we—she—we lost a baby there. I wasna there the way I should’ve been. I had my own demons to fight, and I wasna…” he glanced over at Frank, who was eating slowly, his eyes ping-ponging between Jamie and Claire, watching the exchange. Murtagh was rolling the edge of his cup back and forth on the table, staring at the liquid, quite affected by the story.

Jamie straightened slightly, reaching for the scotch to add more to his glass. Tipping it up, he gestured the offer of a refill. Claire lifted hers, as did Murtagh. Frank shook his head politely before speaking. “So, this boy, what happened to him?”

Jamie cleared his throat. “We brought him back to Scotland wi’ us, but there was,” he stopped, choosing his words, “conflict happenin’ around us.” He took a deep breath, then a swig. “I willna bore ye with the details.” He half smiled.

“And your wife?” Frank pried.

Claire was quite surprised. Frank was usually much more polished. He read the room and did his best to keep things light, comfortable. He didn’t often ask personal questions so boldly. Though there was a bit of jealousy bubbling in her chest, with the mention of Jamie having a wife, she pushed it aside and beneath it was this pulsing curiosity. 

“She— she’s gone now.” Jamie concluded. “Fergus finally had a family, one that loved him dearly. He was devastated when I told him that she had died.” The word seemed to linger on his tongue, like it pained him beyond the truth of it. “Anyway, Murtagh and I took this job temporarily, always with the intention of returnin’ to Scotland. There are plenty of other opportunities there.”

They sat in the silence that the sorrow of the story blanketed them in. Several minutes passed before Murtagh stood and began pulling plates into a pile. 

Claire stopped him. “Oh, no, please leave it.” She took a plate from his hand and took a pile of dishes to the sink. “I can do these later; let’s go back to the sitting room.”

Murtagh nodded. “Thank ye both for dinner. I think I overdid myself.” He patted his stomach. 

Jamie stood, picking up his cup and the bottle of scotch. “Agreed. ’Twas delicious.”

Frank stood as well, turning to leave the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it, and I appreciate you taking us up on the offer of dinner.” His voice died out as he left the room, with Jamie and Murtagh following close behind. Claire stayed for a moment, wrapping up the food to put in the fridge. She had no intention of cleaning that night, but didn’t want the food to spoil. 

She stood at the sink after, her hands braced on the edge. When Jamie spoke about his life, about his past, about his family and his children, Claire couldn’t help but react in a way she couldn’t fathom. Her body responded in goosebumps, and her heart ached for him like it was reaching through the cage in which it lived, desperate to touch him. She had wanted to comfort him, wanted to hear more, but wanted him to stop. It was too painful, even though it wasn’t hers to carry. 

Laughter in the other room brought her back to her senses. She grabbed her glass from the table on the way to the living room. She didn’t notice before how drunk Frank had gotten, but she could clearly see now. He had changed the record, and a slow, soulful song rang out. Jamie and Murtagh were amused as Frank apologized for overindulging, insisting that they didn’t mind in the least. 

Frank reached over for Claire when he saw her, placing his glass on the edge of the end table. Claire accepted his hand, thinking he needed assistance getting down on the couch, but he pulled her into his embrace, clumsily swaying to the music. “Darling,” Claire said quietly, not wanting to embarrass him or bring more attention, but desperate to not be dancing in the middle of the living room with him at this moment. 

“What?” Frank laughed, a lazy smile on his face. “Dance with me, just for a moment.” She nodded stiffly, allowing him to lead her awkwardly.

Frank kissed her cheek, and she blushed, her eyes darting over to Jamie. She tried to understand the reaction and the discomfort bubbling up from the pit of her stomach. She typically welcomed the attention from Frank when others were around. Company was a promise that it wouldn’t go farther than simple affection; there would be no pressure to have to turn him down. Plus, it was a pure comfort she embraced around others, the idea that they possessed what they portrayed. The idea was better than the reality, and the idea was more than welcome at times. 

But not now. Not with Jamie’s eyes on her as she moved. She was grateful when Murtagh called Jamie over to look out the window at something unknown. As she and Frank turned, she could see the conversation between the two of them heating up, small gestures from Jamie becoming bigger. He was agitated. Murtagh finally clasped a strong hand on his shoulder, stilling him with the movement. 

Frank pulled back from Claire; his eyes had been closed. “Murtagh!” Frank slurred. “Come dance with my wife. I’m too dizzy,” he laughed as he plopped down on the couch. 

Murtagh feigned guilt. “I’ve had too much myself, Frank. I’m in no condition. I’d step on her toes for certain.”

Claire crossed her arms. “I didn’t want to dance in the first place! Why am I being—?”

Jamie cut her off by pulling her into him after he had crossed the room. “‘Tis bad luck to quit dancin’ before the song is over.”

“I’ve never heard of that one before.”

“Oh, aye, ‘tis true.”

Claire glanced over at Frank who was reclined awkwardly on the couch, his glass teetering in his hand, his eyes closed. 

She couldn’t describe the feeling of being in Jamie’s arms for that minute. The way they moved together, the way their hands fit perfectly. Her eyes roamed the details, pulling in every subtlety, as though she was viewing it through a lens in a dream. She wanted to remember it all: the fabric of his suit beneath her palm, the feel of his hand against her back, how his jaw clenched when she peered up at him for a moment, how when their hands met, she curled hers into his ever so slightly, how he moved with her, their hips growing closer as they turned. She knew his eyes were on her face, watching her, studying her. She could feel an ache so deep that it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. An ache of wanting something she didn’t know existed. She was simultaneously praying for the song to end and for it to go on forever. 

When it finally did end, they remained holding onto each other for a moment. Murtagh broke the silence, and they broke apart. “We should be goin’.” He reached over the back of the couch and took Frank’s cup from his loose grip before picking up the remaining glasses around the room to bring into the kitchen. 

“I’ll get the coats,” Jamie said, his voice low.

Claire followed Jamie to the entranceway, opening the closet to retrieve their coats. “Here.”

Jamie took his and put it on, then took Murtagh’s and draped it over his arm. “Thank ye for the lovely evening. ‘Tis fine to see ye again, Claire.”

“Thank you for coming.”

She could see him fighting internally. The buildup was more than she had patience for anymore. She felt like she had been through an emotional tornado that night, and her filter was tired. “If there is something you want to say, then say it.”

“I—Are—” he ran a hand down his face.

“What is this between us?” she blurted out before being able to stop herself.

Jamie’s face dropped with relief, and he sighed at his defeat. “Maybe we knew each other… in another life.”

Claire furrowed her brows. She was hoping for an answer. Not superstition. “Nevermind.”

He went on. “Listen, Claire. I feel what you feel, the pull, the ache.”

How did he know this? She was glad she wasn’t alone in the feeling, but the admission made her feel more isolated. She was stuck. The confession changed nothing. She was married. To Frank.

He spoke as if reading her mind. “I dinna expect anythin’ Claire. Ye made a vow to Frank. Ye’re married to him, you made an oath. I willna stand in the way of that.”

“What makes you think you could?” Though, she wasn’t sure herself.

He smiled sadly now. “True,” he whispered. “I just want to know one thing, Claire.” He paused. 

Her heart beat loudly in her chest, desperate for him, hanging on his words. 

“Are ye… happy? Truly?”

She crossed her arms, feeling both raw and defensive. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No,” he responded. “I don’t want the answer ye give to yer neighbours or your colleagues.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to retort. “I know I dinna have a right to ask this of ye. I know you dinna understand why I want to know. I dinna want to take ye away from your life, Claire. Some people are simply connected in a way that ye canna explain. I just want to know, so I can move on and think of ye fondly.” He articulated every word as it came out. “ Are you happy?”

This felt so much deeper than she expected. Though, everything that came from Jamie was unexpected. “—I am happy raising Brianna.”

“And what about Frank?”

“I am thankful that he is such a good father to Brianna. He was worried he couldn’t have children and…”

“Brianna. He told you—” Jamie turned away from her for a moment only to whirl back around. He took a deep breath before continuing. “So Frank is supportive?”

“Yes. When I went into labour early, I could see how worried he was. Becoming a father was so important to him. And he supports me going to medical school, not all husbands…”

He cut her off again. “And does he treat you well, Claire?”

She bit her lip. “Yes,” she whispered.

His finger tipped her chin up. “I could see how ye were together tonight. Did you pull away from his touch because I was here? Or do ye no’ touch each other anymore?”

She moved her chin out of his grasp. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“I ken ye don’t. But Frank is no’ worthy of you.”

Claire’s head began to spin. They had all gotten along all night. There didn’t seem to be any animosity, but the resentment dripped off his tongue like acid. She half expected to hear a sizzle waiting for it to hit the carpet. She couldn’t quite understand the underlying hatred. 

Jamie huffed his frustration. “I’m sorry, I’m thankful to Frank—I—”

“Help me understand what’s going on here.”

A small voice startled them both. “Mama?”

“Bree.” Once she reached the last stair, Claire reached down to pull her up into her arms. She was rubbing her eyes, her stuffed rabbit dangling from her other hand. “What are you doing up?”

“I needed water, and I was calling for you.”

“I’m so sorry, my darling girl, I didn’t hear you.”

“Who is that?” She pointed at Jamie.

Jamie half reached out, but stopped himself. “I’m Jamie. And you are Brianna. I’ve heard so much about ye.” His voice shuddered. “But you are more bonny than I imagined.”

“I’m not Bonny, I’m Bree!”

Claire and Jamie both chuckled. “It means beautiful, lass.”

“We have the same hair,” she said sleepily as she tucked her head into her mother’s neck.

“Aye, I suppose we do. But yours is much more beautiful.”

“Bonny,” she corrected.

“Aye, verra bonny indeed.”

“I think I had a dream about you.” Bree’s eyes fluttered as she fought to keep them open.

Claire glanced down at her, but returned her gaze to Jamie when he replied. “Well, that makes me verra happy, Brianna.” 

Murtagh appeared in the entrance, taking his coat from Jamie. He looked at Brianna for a long moment and smiled before patting Jamie’s back. “We should go.” He nodded at Claire. “Thank ye for the delightful evenin’. Take care of yer family. Be well.”

The lump in Claire’s throat stopped her from replying. She looked at the closed door long after they had left, feeling like a piece of her had left with them, but that the tether remained. She could still feel the pull of them.

She looked down at Bree, who had fallen back asleep on her shoulder. The desperation to make sense of that conversation with Jamie was at the forefront of her mind as she tucked Bree back into bed. A tear fell from her eye as the realization that she would never see him again hit her in the dark. He was lost to her now. As it should be. As it was.


	6. Naught Without Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire begins putting some puzzle pieces together as her marriage begins to crumble.

Melancholic. Alone. Distraught. Angry. In Despair. 

To say her marriage took a dive would be an understatement. After Jamie and Murtagh left that night, Frank had become increasingly volatile. If he wasn’t picking a fight, he was ignoring her very existence. Every time she asked about his sudden change of attitude, he said something flippant, or worse, blamed his behavior on her for the way she had treated him over the years following her return. 

That was what they fought about most often, her lost years. It was exhausting and exasperating; he knew she couldn’t remember. He would yell at her like she remembered, like she was keeping the truth from him. It was becoming increasingly obvious that their marriage was not just a sham, but it was most likely over. 

Claire had found her escape at school, though now even that was tainted. She walked around peering over her shoulder, convinced she could see Jamie in the sea of faces. 

She scolded herself often, wondering why this stranger seemed so important to her, and why he overtook every waking thought in her mind. Not just waking thoughts, but her dreams as well. It wasn’t much different than what she had already been experiencing, but now it felt shattered, unattainable. Now that he was gone. Like the important pages of a book she had been anxious to read had been ripped out. 

Until one day. 

It had been a couple of weeks, and she was only beginning to feel present in her classes instead of drifting off into her fantasy world where Jamie existed. She was finally able to shake herself out of the depth of anguish, or at least live teetering on the edge of it, instead of completely immersed.

Then she saw him. She thought for sure it was a cruel mirage, but he was there, a lopsided smile on his face, weaving his way through the crowd of people until he stood right in front of her. Then he touched her arm, and she knew it wasn’t a dream. 

She was shaking, but was also desperate to hold it together. “I need to sit down.”

Jamie wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her easily as he all but floated her to a nearby bench under a tree. “Are ye alright, Claire?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not. Why are you here?” She was infuriated. She had only just begun to feel like she was on stable ground again only to have him pull the rug out from under her. 

He ran a hand down his face, exasperated. “I’m sorry, Claire. I—I meant to go.”

“Then why didn’t you?” She slammed her books down on the other side of her and crossed her arms.

“Murtagh went back to check on Fergus for me, but I couldna…”

“Good for Murtagh,” she spat, though her stomach dropped with the thought of Murtagh being gone.

“Claire.” There was a warning in his tone. And she didn’t appreciate it.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t ask you to come into my life. And I’m not asking you to stay.” She could hear the words coming out of her mouth, the indignant undertone. She meant none of it, but she couldn’t stop it. She was so sick of feeling like she was in the dark. So sick of being drawn to a stranger to the point of wanting to break her wedding vows. Sick of seeing Frank so hurt by her actions, actions she couldn’t even remember! She was sick of not being able to fix the damage that had been done. Sick of not feeling happy.

She reached for her books to leave, but Jamie’s hands stilled her, the anger melting away momentarily with his touch. She could feel the sting of tears welling in her eyes. 

“I—Claire—Christ, I hate seeing ye this way. I wish…” he trailed off, and that reignited her rage.

“What are you not telling me?” She searched his face, willing his eyes to lock with hers. Softening, she said, “Brianna said she dreamed of you.” Claire thought back to when she asked Brianna about that. She had simply shrugged and said she saw him in her dreams, looking at the necklace she wore. Claire thought it so odd, as it was a necklace that was inside the gift Jamie and Murtagh had left for her. A beautiful necklace with a coloured gem set in it. And it was even more odd when Brianna added that she dreamed that the red haired man’s dad’s name was Brian. 

He couldn’t help the weak smile on his face. “Aye.”

“That’s it?” She dipped her head. “That’s all I get?”

“I dinna think it will help, mo chridhe.”

She had heard him mutter in Gaelic before, with Murtagh, though she didn’t ask for the meaning, refusing to get sidetracked. “Did you say something to Frank? He can’t seem to stand me now, not that he tolerated me much before either,” she added at the end, and then regretted it instantly.

Jamie tensed, his jaw clenching. “Is he no’ bein’ kind to ye, Claire?”

She almost lied, but instead allowed his uninvited anger as fuel for her own. “And what if he wasn’t? What would you do? He’s my husband! And you—you’re—a stranger, Jamie! You’re a stranger! I don’t know you! And you don’t know me.”

His face fell, and his hands trembled. She hated herself for saying such things, even though they were the truth. It felt wrong. However, it would be a lie if she said she hadn’t been making some connections that seemed to point to the contrary but until she had proof it was a mere fantasy. She did her best to soften her voice. “Why didn’t you leave, Jamie?”

“I couldna leave.”

“Why?”

“I came here,” he paused, “I mean, I care about ye Claire. I jus’ wanted to know if ye were happy, wi’ Frank. I tried to listen when ye said ye were, but a blind man can see that you’re no’.”

“I try,” she said indignantly. 

“I ken, Sassenach, I ken.” She felt as though she had been catapulted through time, like an invisible hand reached forward and pulled her by the chest into a different moment. Sassenach. The word echoed through her bones, his voice saying so, over and over until she broke herself free. A faint conversation rose in the subconscious chaos with overlapping words, like ripples caused by a handful of pebbles.

“I want ye to be happy, ye ken? I want to know this is truly where ye want to be, with Frank. Do ye think ye can be happy wi’ him, even if ye aren’t now?”

She didn’t know why she lied. There was something in her head screaming at her to tell the truth, screaming at her to tell Jamie that she felt more alive with him sitting next to her than she did when Frank was touching her. In fact, of all the times he had touched her combined. Being in Jamie’s presence felt like a fire she couldn’t live without, couldn’t breathe without. But she was married. To Frank. He was Brianna’s father. She would not betray Brianna. “I do.”

She thought she saw the glimmer of a tear, but he turned away and nodded. “Aye. Good.” He reached for her hand, and brought it to his lips with an urgency. He kissed it and held it to his cheek for a moment.

She opened her mouth to confess, but nothing came out. 

He stood to leave, tucking his hands into his pockets. Claire’s hands were sitting politely in her lap, though in truth she was restraining them with intent. They longed to reach out to him. She could tell he was willing himself to walk away, but he went on standing there, like stone. 

This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be their whole story. It made no sense. Two strangers meeting and feeling a pull so strongly, maybe, but then experiencing such intense emotion toward him? Such a longing? Jamie’s words rang out in her memory: “Maybe we knew each other, in a different life.” Perhaps it was a long shot, but just maybe… “You knew me, didn’t you? Before? In the time I can’t remember?”

Jamie dropped his head before looking up through his lashes. The internal struggle was evident in every line on his face. He clearly wanted to lie, but the longer he stood there unresponsive, the clearer the answer became. He reluctantly nodded. 

Finally. Validation. She stood abruptly. “Tell me.”

She could feel the barrier between them cracking, his resolve was fracturing. “We are naught wi’out memory, mo nighean donn. And I know ye. Having the knowledge wi’out the memory will haunt ye. And I canna cause ye any more pain. That would take more strength than I have.” He reached out to move her hair from her cheek, but ghosted the touch instead, not making contact. His eyes darted around them, making sure he wasn’t drawing too much attention. 

“Please!” she begged, but she could see the resolution on his face. “I already feel like I’m drowning every day, at least if I know what really happened…” she trailed off. “I won’t feel like I’m under water. And maybe,” she looked up to the sky in a silent prayer, “I’ll remember.”

He softened, his hands moving to her arms. He sighed deeply. “Alright. But know that this may cause more harm than good. I need ye to be warned.”

She nodded eagerly.

“And no’ here. Meet me tomorrow night. There’s a cafe on campus, meet me there at nine, ‘tis empty by then.”

She hated the idea of having to wait but would take whatever he would agree to. He bent down to kiss her on the cheek and lingered there for a moment. 

As he walked away, she called out after him. “Jamie! What was your father’s name?”

She could see him hesitate. “Brian,” she heard him shout back. Her heart hammered in her chest as she scrambled to put the pieces together. 

**************************************

The next night as she was lying down with Brianna, putting her to sleep, her thoughts wandered to the future. What was Jamie going to tell her? She couldn’t help but weave tales in her mind. Not like the thought hadn’t completely crossed her mind, but was this man Brianna’s father? The matching hair, how Brianna was early, how she dreamed of him, Jamie’s father’s name being Brian. She felt sick to her stomach thinking that she had an affair on Frank, especially when they had been so happy. They truly were happy, at least she thought so. She couldn’t recall ever being tempted with an affair before, even if it was with someone like Jamie. She just couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that she would betray her wedding vows, that she would betray what Frank and her had built all those years ago. He was everything to her, once upon a time. 

She thought she heard a knock at the door downstairs, but knowing Frank was down there, she stayed put. Brianna was on the verge of sleep, and Claire didn’t want to start over if she was interrupted. 

She shook her head. No. But even as the word resounded in her mind, she questioned it. Would Frank stoop so low? Did he think he was protecting her? What would this mean for their family? If Brianna was Jamie’s, she completely understood what Jamie meant by it making this harder. She also realized that once she found out the truth, there might be even more of a pull toward Jamie, and it scared her to think of what that meant for her marriage, especially considering the state it was in. She already knew what she might want out of the marriage with Frank, as painful as that could be to complete. She would want Brianna to know Jamie, she would want Jamie to be a part of Brianna’s life. And Claire… she would want to be free to explore a relationship with Jamie. The thought both soothed and disturbed her. A shiver of intrigue trickled down her spine. The idea that she could possibly be happy, be fulfilled, be loved by someone she wanted to love back was exciting.

She was sure that Jamie could fill in some blanks, like where she had been, how did she simply vanish, and why didn’t she come back earlier? She was afraid of most of the answers, but more afraid of living the rest of her life not knowing. 

She snuck out of Brianna’s room and went to her own. As guilty as she felt, she couldn’t help feeling giddy as well. She was watching the clock for as long as she could bear, while touching up her makeup.

Frank was sitting at his desk when she came downstairs. “I’m going out for a bit.”

Frank grunted as a reply and she left. 

She sat in the cafe for two hours after Jamie had said to meet until she finally accepted that he wasn’t coming. Her grief hinged between absolute devastation and unbearable rage. She couldn’t trust her own memories, her own feelings, and now she couldn’t trust anyone in her life. She finally felt completely shattered, those fractals of who she once was, now irreparable.

*************************************************************

A few weeks had passed and there was no sign of him. She asked around campus, went back to the cafe on multiple occasions, even called around to some nearby colleges to see if he had booked any more work, but there was nothing. It was as if he vanished. And she was thrown into turmoil again. She thought she would at least get the opportunity to shout at him. Whether the truth was that he changed his mind or it was all a lie, she didn’t know, and it didn’t seem likely that she would ever get the answer. 

Things at home were escalating. Frank was drinking more, and he was being spiteful. She wondered if he found out about her attempting to meet with Jamie, but there was no way he could have known. 

Claire had been tiptoeing around him, knowing she couldn’t control her temper when he attacked with hurtful accusations. On multiple occasions, she nearly brought up the question of Brianna’s paternity, but was thankful that she held back. She recognized the tiny bit of hope she was clinging to that she would find the answers before confronting Frank. Finally, though, one night they finally managed to have a conversation that wasn’t full of fury. Though, it was filled with pain. 

Frank topped up his tumbler with whiskey and sat on the edge of the couch, refusing to make eye contact with Claire. “I can’t fight with you like this anymore,” he finally said, knowing Brianna had been fast asleep for at least an hour. 

She had felt very guilty about Brianna hearing them fighting, they had woken her up twice before because of their raised voices. “I’m not the one picking the fights,” she spat.

He nodded. “I know. And it’s not fair.” She could hear the slight slur, the whisky ever present. “I don’t want to anymore.”

She wondered how receptive he would be if she questioned him about Jamie. About Brianna. But she held her tongue, still praying that he wouldn’t lie about something so important, and with no proof, the conversation would feel futile. She was also eager to avoid a yelling match, as he seemed more open than he had in a long while.

“I think,” he said sadly, “that we need to call a truce.”

“A truce?”

“Mm,” he mused. “I love Brianna.” He said it with such conviction that it pulled a fraction of remorse from deep within her. “And I love you, Claire.”

There was a silence that hung in the air. She wasn’t sure if he wanted her to say it back, and though she wanted to, if it was going to save an argument, she knew he meant “in love”, and that was something she didn’t think she could lie about.

“I know you don’t feel the same way as you did,” he said as though reading her thoughts, “all those years ago. Before…” the word seemed to echo in the silence. 

Her knee jerk reaction was to begin apologizing, though her voice was dripping with frustration when she did. “I’m sorry, Frank, I don’t remember…”

He raised a hand to stop her. “I know, Claire. I’m well aware. But that doesn’t change what it means and where we are.”

She dipped her eyebrows in confusion. 

“You tolerate me, for Brianna’s sake. You want to love me the way you did, but you don’t. Maybe in time, you’ll learn to again.” He exhaled through his nose. “But, for now, let’s not pretend that you do. Me asking you to is pushing you away. So, let’s stop this nonsense.”

“What do you mean?” Claire didn’t understand what he was proposing. 

“We’ll stay married, we’ll stay cordial. We like each other, Claire, or at least we used to.”

“So live together, as friends?”

He snorted, taking another drink. “Friends would be an upgrade at this point, don’t you think?”

Claire couldn’t help but laugh. The idea of a peace treaty between them was enticing, though she didn’t understand where it was coming from. How could this possibly be enough for him? She was still holding onto hope that Jamie would contact her and fill in some of her voids, but without that knowledge, and with Jamie gone, this was her best option for now. 

“Alright.” She held out her hand for Frank to shake, which he took apprehensively. “Friends. 

*******************************************

A few nights later, Frank brought her a letter. “This came for you today.” 

Claire knew that Frank saw her pain. She tried to hide it and hoped he knew it wasn’t because Jamie had disappeared. He had been polite to her, not completely kind, but it was a start. She could tell he was still feeling resentful, and she wondered if he regretted the deal they made. She knew he wanted a real marriage but that she wasn’t capable of giving it without disdain. She was thankful but embarrassed by her inability to be a wife to her husband. She also knew that he was hoping that they could build on this and perhaps get back some semblance of the love that existed for them before. 

She shifted her focus to the letter and her eyes widened before she eagerly tore at the envelope. It was one page and it read:

I’m sorry, Claire. Please forgive me.

Jamie


	7. Shiver

Claire had been awake, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. When Frank stirred, she quickly closed her eyes, waiting for him to get up and get out. The ceiling came back into focus a few minutes later, the void in her eyes growing deeper every day. 

She couldn’t believe it was her graduation day, that she had finally made it through medical school. She couldn’t muster up a smile, even with that thought in her head. It was a huge accomplishment to graduate, and she was proud of herself, but her life was anything but fulfilling at the moment. She was praying that she could find some joy in the day, if not in the moment. 

She swung her legs out of bed and let her toes touch the carpet. Thinking back, she couldn’t believe she made it through the last two years at all. So much had happened and she felt like she was at the bottom of a whirlpool, afraid to move in any direction for fear of being swept away completely. 

She recalled the day she got Jamie’s letter and how quickly it became tear-soaked before she angrily tore it up and threw it in the fire. It was about six months after that when Frank announced that he was done trying to make Claire happy and was seeing another woman. He said he had given up hope that she would find her way back to him. He was right. Their marriage was a sham anyway, but she was disgusted with herself that she didn’t care, and worse, stayed. His surrender came as a relief, actually. However, she was terrified that Brianna would find out. It often felt as though the illusion of their life was more important than the life itself, but that was the only thing grounding Claire. Brianna was getting older now, and Claire could see her noticing more and more. The guilt of that seeped into Claire’s veins like a poison, weighing her down, killing her from the soul out, slowly. 

Sometimes the thought of this other woman had Claire’s blood boiling, but not from jealousy of her. She didn’t want Frank anymore. They were cordial, at best, and most of the time moved around each other like pieces of furniture they weren’t sure suited the decor anymore. It was more about Frank’s assumed happiness that caused her resentment. The idea that Claire could be truly happy came and went with Jamie’s presence. They were a well oiled machine, though, living their lives in anticipation of their predictable moves, moods, and tones. They didn’t bother fighting anymore either, there really wasn’t anything left to fight about, or for. Co-existence, co-parenting, co-living. The pressure to love each other or hang on to what once was, was gone. 

Claire wished it was the same in the way of her memory of Jamie. He still haunted her, every day, every moment, and she hated him for it. Though Frank continued to deny it, she was more convinced as the months passed that Jamie was Brianna’s father. There were too many signs pointing to that obvious conclusion, and Claire was simply unable to ignore them. Not just the hair, or the fact that she came early, or the continual dreams about him, but their shared demeanor, his reaction to her, how Claire was compelled to unknowingly name Bree after Jamie’s father. The way their smiles crept up into their eyes was something Claire dreamed of often, as well. It made her furious.

Part of her wished she could just go back to thinking she was fantasizing about a stranger and allow herself the confusion of the emotions that followed. Why did she need to dig deeper? It only heightened her awareness of loss. She missed Jamie, and she wished she could remember why. The fact that he stood her up, and then sent her a dismissive letter as closure, made her sick. She couldn’t deny how she felt when she was around him, or how her breathing settled when she thought of him, like he was her own personal touchstone into a meditative state. She knew, to the depth of her, that she loved this man, or had loved him. But what kind of man had she betrayed her wedding vows for? What kind of man would insert himself into her life, to disrupt it and then run away after being absent for so long? What kind of man awoke in her a carnal need only to strip her raw and discard her when she needed him most? What kind of man would walk away from his daughter when Claire had been receptive to the information? What kind of man let her leave if they were truly happy? What kind of man was Jamie Fraser if he was capable of all of that?

Thinking of Frank, she wanted to believe that he was the better man. That whatever pulled her and Jamie apart and led her back to Frank was in her best interest. Maybe Jamie wasn’t the man she thought he had been and she had wanted to return to Frank. Or maybe, her heart persisted, she didn’t want to leave Jamie at all.

Her mind always returned to that thought. Knowing how it felt to be in his presence, to feel like she knew him when she looked into his eyes, hearing the words he said to her when he was trying to soothe her, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to give a moment of that up. So, why did she? He didn’t seem eager to be without her either. 

She pushed herself up off the bed angrily and began pacing the room. If the few memories of him drove her to the brink of madness, she wondered what the rest of them would do. There had been moments where she thought she could grasp a memory or two, but they remained continually out of reach, with only tiny glimpses remaining: Her running her hand along his body with the heat of a fire nearby warming her skin, her hands enveloped in his when they were trembling, the sound of gunshots in the distance, and a shiver in her bones that she couldn’t seem to shake anymore.

Jamie was right, if he had told her the truth of it, without the memories, the knowledge would haunt her. And it was. Had he known she would put it together herself? Is that why he left? Another fleeting memory of reaching for him in the dark and a whisper: “Come find me Jamie. Find us.”

It took years to regain those fragments of memory and more effort than she had energy to build them. She finally stopped pacing and looked at her vanity. Without hesitation she reached out and swept her arm across it, displacing every item that decorated it. She took comfort in the chaos for a moment.

She could hear Frank yell up from downstairs. “Claire?”

Pressing her fingers into the bridge of her nose and sighing, she yelled back, “I’m fine. Be down soon.” 

She left the mess, it reflected how she felt, and that alone was settling. 

*****************************************************

The day crawled by, to Claire’s dismay. She had looked forward to this day for so many years, but as she celebrated, she sunk deeper. There were a few happy moments when her friends came to the house to celebrate. Seeing Brianna filled with pride for her mother was the thing Claire reveled in most. She was so thankful to be showing her daughter how to follow her dreams and be brave in a world dominated by men. She thanked Frank for this one grace, that he wasn’t intimidated by the success Claire had or would have in the future when it came to her career. 

The party went on, and Claire’s smile became more real. She was glad to be done with the ceremony and be able to toast with her friends and congratulate her colleagues. She began to feel a bit lighter as the evening went on, and she relaxed slightly as the champagne dulled her senses.

She was laughing when she answered the door after the bell rang out. 

A woman stood there, her smile fading from her face and eyes growing wide.

Claire smiled. “May I help you?”

“Oh. I’m sorry I…”

Frank and Brianna appeared behind her. “Claire?”

The woman made eye contact with Frank, a knowing look on her face. Claire glanced back at Frank, instantly understanding the connection. It was his mistress. 

“Bree, go and play,” Frank said flatly. 

Claire raked her eyes down this woman with disgust and annoyance, glancing between them once more. She walked past Frank, making a snide remark before rejoining the party.

*********************************************************

“You invited her here? Where our daughter lives?” Claire had been waiting for him to come home, sitting alone in the living room, stewing for hours while he was out. 

“I didn’t know she was coming,” he said quietly, inching his way into the living room.

“You said you would be discreet!” When they had the conversation about him having a mistress, it was more like a business deal. They didn’t discuss it, but their rules were clear. She asked him once if there was just one woman, or multiple, and she could tell on his face that he cared about this woman when he answered that it was only her. 

Claire felt embarrassed and the resentment only grew. If Frank hadn’t come to the conclusion of living separate lives, she knew she would have suggested it at some point. They were far too broken to not address it. But it was much easier when there was no face to associate his life with, and she could go on pretending as she saw fit. Seeing this living, breathing person full of love for her husband, wanting to be with him, with real feelings and thoughts, it was unbearable. It made Claire ache for a connection with someone. With Jamie. Her anger was relentless. 

Frank sighed. “We need to talk, Claire.”

She was fired up, and she wanted to sling the first hurtful words that formulated on her tongue. “You want to talk? Great! Why don’t we talk about Brianna? How she isn’t really your daughter, and how you’ve lied to me about it for years!”

He didn’t respond, he didn’t react. He hung his head, allowing the words to marinate. Her saying this when angry wasn’t new, and she thought maybe he was simply used to it. He poured himself some whisky and sat down on the couch next to her. “You’re right, Claire. Brianna is not biologically mine.”

Claire felt like she had been shot in the chest, peppered with bullets. The shock radiated over her body, an instant feeling of needing to protect herself, a fight or flight. She had already been convinced, but hearing him say the words was like waking up to a cold bucket of water to the face. Confusion, fear, anger, heartbreak, everything that had been stewing inside her for so long was finally validated. The relief was painful, like popping a dislocated shoulder back into the socket.

The tears fell, but her voice was steady. “She’s Jamie’s, isn’t she?”

He nodded. “Claire, I’ll tell you everything, I swear it, but there is something else.”

She knew what was coming. Divorce. She was still reeling from his confession and struggled to adjust. They had spoken of divorce a few times, but Frank insisted he didn’t want a divorce, for fear of missing out on time with Brianna, but she could understand if he loved this other woman, why he would push for one now. She wouldn’t oppose him. What came out of his mouth next was not what she was expecting. 

He leaned back and took a deep sigh before staring at the amber liquid moving around in his glass. “I’m dying, Claire.”

Her body rejected the words. “What?”

He nodded. “I was hoping there would be something that would…” he lost his words, “...but there isn’t. I have a tumor in my brain. There’s nothing they can do.”

Her mind raced as he spoke. Suddenly she remembered moments in the past months, him leaving more often, complaining about soreness, confusion, his mood had changed. There were signs that something was wrong, but she had missed them. Or maybe just simply didn’t care. 

A new wave of guilt hit her, and though she was still seething beneath it all, she forced herself to focus on him, and not on Jamie. One thing at a time. “When did you find this out?”

“A few months ago. I wasn’t feeling well, so I saw my doctor. They did tests and scans and…”

“We need a second opinion,” Claire said, standing up abruptly. She thought as she paced. Her mind reeled with questions; who was the doctor who diagnosed him, where was the tumor located, did they come up with a treatment plan at all, was it malignant? She made a mental checklist as the questions surfaced, and knew she needed to see the scans for herself. They would call the doctor first thing in the morning.

The train of thought that followed was much less professional, and much more personal. She couldn’t allow something like this to take Frank from Brianna. It would break Bree’s heart. She loved her father, dearly. A fleeting feeling of animosity rose when she thought of Jamie, who was also Brianna’s father, and how he didn’t get to be in her life at all. Or chose not to be. With effort, she pushed the thought away. 

Frank leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his glass hovering between them. “I know this is a shock, and I don’t expect you to help, given what I’ve just admitted about Brianna.” He softened. “I am sorry, Claire, for lying for so long.”

She couldn’t absorb his apology, but she was irritated at him. “To help? Do you think I would simply turn away from this? From you? You’re Brianna’s father for Christ’s sake! Bree loves you. What kind of monster do you think I am?” She crossed her arms, her eyes searching for the window.

Frank hung his head. “I just mean I don’t blame you for being angry.”

She scoffed. 

“Listen, Claire, I want to tell you what I know about Brianna, about Jamie, but there is just… so much more than you could imagine.”

“First,” she said, ignoring him, “we need to get a second opinion. Then we need to find a specialist.” She couldn’t believe she finally had validation, finally had some semblance of truth, and she had to shove it aside to focus on something even more pressing. 

Frank nodded. “My doctor said there is a specialist in Scotland who could possibly…”

She cut him off. “When do we leave?”


	8. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank finally comes clean. But how much does he really know?

The next couple of weeks were a whirlwind. Claire had insisted on talking to the doctor who diagnosed Frank, seeing the scans, speaking at length about his condition, and insisting on second opinions in the area, which all resulted in the same outcome. Claire’s optimism was dwindling, and the reality that Frank could truly be gone in less than a year came at her in waves. She was heartbroken for Brianna, heartbroken for Frank, but her most prevalent emotion was anger. 

Frank had lied to her for years, he had betrayed her, he had blamed her, and he had orchestrated a life that he wanted, that ended up serving neither of them. She didn’t know the depth in which he knew of her life with Jamie, and she was desperate to ask, but now she was dealing with a dying man. She wanted to ask him, wanted to demand answers, but she couldn’t, and though he insisted he was open to talk about it, he didn’t bring it up. 

The chaos that was doctors appointments, shuffling Brianna, booking flights, and dealing with the weight of their reality was more than enough to keep them busy and exhausted. Claire held herself together by researching and focusing on his prognosis, digging up facts and similar cases, falling down the rabbit hole of statistics until she was depleted of energy. Her own questions could wait, though that aggravated her. She had waited long enough, and here she was, catering to the man that kept information from her for years. Even if all he knew was that Brianna wasn’t his. 

Claire sat back in her airplane seat and rolled her shoulders down forcing herself to relax. She couldn’t sleep, but she smiled as a dozing Brianna shifted and placed her head on her lap. Claire’s fingers began moving through her daughter’s hair absently and she gazed out the window again. They were still a few hours away, and her anxiety grew as they inched closer. 

Frank leaned in, keeping his voice low. “Claire.”

She tipped her head towards him, implying she was listening without looking.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done the last couple of weeks. I know you must be furious with me.”

Sighing deeply and biting her tongue, she replied with as much politeness as she could muster. “I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, and who you are to Brianna.” She meant it, but a spark of irritation twinged in her throat. Yes, she was thankful that he was a good father, however, she was beyond furious when she wondered if anything would have been different if he would have been truthful from the beginning. Would she have felt obligated to stay? Would their relationship have taken on another tone? Would she have remembered more, sooner, without all the guilt and confusion and pain that she felt on Frank’s behalf? She felt as though he trapped her into a life with him, tricked her into allowing Brianna to fall in love with him as a father. And after all of that, he was dying. Of that she was certain. Though she was hopeful for a better treatment plan and perhaps a better quality of life for him with the time he had left, she knew his prognosis.

He nodded. “I know. Thank you for that.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sure you have so many questions for me.”

Claire glanced down at Brianna sleeping in her lap. She thought about not engaging in the conversation, but this was an opening, and who knew what would happen when they got to Scotland. “Why did you lie? About Brianna?” She steeled herself, knowing the answers would bulldoze her emotionally. Trying to remain objective, she consciously removed herself from it, doing her best to compartmentalize. 

Frank’s eyes wandered to the back of the next seat, she saw him searching through his inner vision as he spoke. “When you came back, I— I was so thrilled. But I was also terrified. I was lost without you, Claire. I didn’t know if you left of your own volition, or if something terrible had happened.” He shifted slightly, glancing around to make sure no one in the vicinity could hear. “When I heard you had been found in good health, it was enough to confirm the suspicion for me. I expected you to tell me you didn’t want to be with me any longer, that you had left me for another man, or one of the other hundred possibilities that ran through my mind.”

Frank waved a stewardess over and ordered two whiskeys before continuing. “When I got to the hospital, the doctor told me you were pregnant. He said it was fairly early, but that they hadn’t told you yet. I insisted on being the one to tell you.” He saw the lines in her face harden as he spoke, and he rushed on, trying to temper her, “I had every intention of telling you, I swear I did, Claire.” He calmed himself, his head dropping in defeat. “But— when I walked into that room, and you reached out for me I— I remembered how it felt to be near you, to be with you, to have you love me.” He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to rid himself of the moisture there.

Claire, too, felt turmoil. She remembered that day, every detail of it. How broken she felt, how alone. Opening her arms to Frank was like reaching for a liferaft. Her stomach churned as the bitterness and resentment from the present mixed with the grief and confusion from that day. 

Frank sucked in a staggered breath. “When I realized that you truly didn’t remember, I thought, perhaps, this was a sign that we could start over. I thought I could forget the time you were gone, like you had, and move on with you and the baby. It was selfish of me to keep Brianna’s paternity from you, but I rationalized it. If you didn’t remember, how would that make you feel, knowing you were carrying a man’s child you knew nothing about? But I see now that it was much more about how that made me feel, not about protecting you. Though, I hope some of it came from a noble place. I want to believe there is a small amount of grace in me left.” He shook his head, confirming that he didn’t think there was. “I had found out when you were away that I couldn’t have children. So when you came back pregnant, I felt even more inadequate. I suppose it was a way to remedy that, and also a way to have a child, to raise a child, with you.”

Claire could understand the state Frank was in. Hell, if she was really honest with herself, she should have put the truth together much sooner. Survival is what made her reject any other reality. For how appalled she was with herself that she could have an affair, she could certainly understand Frank’s rationalization of how to deal with it. But though she could understand it, it still didn’t make it right. 

Keeping her voice low, and checking that Brianna was still fully out, she began her questioning. “Why did you keep lying to me when I figured it out?”

“I shouldn’t have. I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction, and my anger had been renewed when Jamie showed up. I didn’t have much to go on before, just that Brianna wasn’t biologically mine.” He sounded sour when he spoke of Jamie, but she didn’t blame him for it. She could tell he was doing his best to be neutral. “When Jamie found his way into our lives, I noticed how he looked at you, how you looked at him, how there was always a slight undertone when he addressed me. And, of course, the uncanny resemblance to Brianna.” The words caught in his throat as he spoke. 

She nodded, but didn’t reply, fearing her words would come out harshly and deter him from continuing. 

“After the night they came over for dinner, I began doing some digging. I poured over newspaper articles, I reached out to some friends, I did everything I could to find any information on Jamie and Murtagh that I could get my hands on.”

“And what did you find?” Her heart began to race.

He chuckled. “More than I bargained for.” 

The stewardess returned, passing two tumblers to Frank. Claire accepted hers and took a deep swig. 

Frank was still smiling, but Claire could see that it was out of necessity, if it wasn’t for that smile, there would be tears.

“Claire, listen,” he began, searching for words, “I can’t tell you everything right now, right this instant. Not on this airplane. If I did, you would probably start checking my pulse, and checking my pupils for dilation. You’d start wondering if the tumor was taking hold sooner than expected.”

She frowned, unsure. “What do you mean?”

“I have documents I want to show you, Claire, they’re in my suitcase, along with the rest of the letter Jamie wrote to you that I hid. I am hoping that this trip to Scotland will give us both some clarity. This trip isn’t just for me, it’s for you as well. Your journey began there, and I’m hoping I can give you back some of what I took from you.”

Her mind reeled. Those words scraped the surface, revealing the anger bubbling beneath. “The other part of the letter? There was more?”

Frank drained his drink. “Yes. There is more. Much more.” He exhaled sharply, and she realized he had a migraine coming on, a symptom he had been struggling with for months. 

She did her best to pull her anger back. The doctor in her shoved it aside as she reached for his forehead, he was hot. She would have laughed, if she wasn’t so concerned, as she did exactly what he predicted, checked his pulse, checked his pupils. She waved the flight attendant over asking for a cool compress. It appeared to be a simple migraine, nothing else was alarming.

Frank reached for her hand, pulling it from his cheek. “I promised Jamie,” he said sadly, through the pain, “I promised him I would tell you the truth. I promised him I would give you the letter.” He closed his eyes, his head falling back on the headrest. “He gave me permission to read it, he said it was the honorable thing to do.” His breathing settled and she thought he was asleep. She placed the cold compress to his forehead when she got it and jumped when he spoke. “I was so jealous, Claire. I was— I—”

“Shh,” she chided. 

“He loved you so much. He truly just wanted happiness for you, even if it was with me. I— I was the reason he went back. And then I hid the letter out of spite.”

Her head dropped, her hand remained pressing on the cold compress. She did her best to take in his words, to not react, but they wounded her.

“But,” his voice was a whisper now, as he fought to get them out, “I finally understood. You didn’t leave me, you didn’t abandon me.”

“I didn’t?” Her voice cracked, the knowledge snapped the chain that was holding her beneath water.

He shook his head sloppily. “No. But you found love… without me. A love that replaced me. I’m so sorry for punishing you for that, Claire.”

She wanted to push, wanted to know what he knew, but when his head drooped to the side, she knew sleep had overtaken him. 

********************************************

Claire had been hoping to continue their conversation, but once they arrived in Glasgow, they were overwhelmed with doctor appointments again. Frank went through a whole new round of testing, and after two days he was utterly exhausted. Claire tried to convince him that they should stay in Glasgow for longer, but he insisted they make the drive north to Inverness to visit the reverend after their appointments were complete. 

The specialist didn’t supply much hope and confirmed all of their fears about his diagnosis; it was a malignant tumor, there was no possible way to operate, and treatment options were limited. He did mention that there would be a clinical trial available the following year that he would most likely qualify for, but his chances of surviving the year were slim. And the chances of the trial being successful were also slim. They decided to add him to the waitlist anyway.

Their last night in the hotel was spent with Claire eavesdropping on Frank’s conversation with Brianna. She had been asking why he needed to see so many doctors. He explained to her, ever so gently, that he was sick, and her seven year old mind grasped it, but couldn’t comprehend the seriousness. Claire was thankful for that. She could hear the concern in her daughter’s voice as she asked Frank questions. He answered them, sugar-coated, but Claire was sure that Brianna understood that Frank might go to heaven soon. She cried in his arms and told him that she would miss him. Claire covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her own sobs as life as she knew it crumbled around her.

********************************************

They found their way to Inverness a couple of days later, and Frank seemed to have recovered some of his energy. Once they were settled in the reverend’s home, Claire and Frank found themselves alone for the first time in a long time. Brianna had run off to play with the older boy, Roger, outside, the reverend had to stop by the church, and Mrs. Graham was busying herself making dinner. It was finally just the two of them. 

Frank pulled out his briefcase and put it on the side table in their room. He pulled out several newspaper clippings, numerous loose sheets of paper, a small box with a tied bow, and what she assumed to be the other part of Jamie’s letter, laying them all out on the bed.

She reached for the letter first, but Frank stopped her.

“I think I’ve earned the right to read it, Frank.” Her voice was stiff. 

He didn’t skip a beat, or soften. “I promised him I would tell you everything else first. And I intend to do so,” he sighed, “even if I am two years too late.”

She crossed her arms and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting impatiently.

“Please, have an open mind.”

Putting her hands palm up in the air, she signified her willingness and also her exasperation before crossing them again. 

“Do you remember the stories Mrs. Graham told us? About the stones?”

Claire nodded.

“And you remember how you were dressed when you woke up next to them?”

“Yes,” she said skeptically.

He tipped his head at her, annoyed that she was already discounting his explanation.

She put her hands up. “I’m sorry, yes, go on.”

“That was an authentic outfit from the 1700’s. Not easy to come by. A colleague of mine had no idea how you would have come to have it in your possession, especially in such good condition.”

“Alright.”

“When you vanished, you had gone up to the stones to pick flowers, and that was your last known location.”

“Are you implying I traveled through the stones? Like Mrs. Graham insisted?”

Frank began searching through the papers. “I thought it was crazy myself, which is why I didn’t even think to research any of it when you returned. It wasn’t until Jamie showed up that I began to dig. Then I found these.”

He handed her a stack of papers. She stood and reached out, taking them. One was a document stating names of five Fraser officers who took refuge in an old house for two days. It stated that four of them were taken out to be shot, but that one of them escaped execution. 

“What does this mean?”

“Four of those officers have their names memorialized on a plaque in the church in Beauly. The last name is at the very bottom there.”

James Fraser. The Battle of Culloden. She could feel the familiar tingling of recognition as she read it over again. It was the same feeling she got when memories began to break through. She flipped to the next page. It was the deed to an estate. 

Broch Turach Deed of Sasine, it said at the top. And right beneath that: James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Then she saw Murtagh’s name and signature. 

She stumbled back and fell into a chair as the memory exploded in her brain. Jamie telling a small boy to ride, and stop for nothing, Murtagh ominously passing her a quill. Signing the deed was in slow motion, as was the tear that fell from her cheek, splattering the ink about. But there it was, her name, her signature. She ran her fingers over the smudge. The rest of the memory faded away like sand through a sieve. 

Frank bowed his head and put a hand on his hip. “You remember?”

“A little. I— I think.”

He sighed, as though he was still holding on to a shred of hope that what Jamie had told him wasn’t true. 

She flipped to the next page, it was a partial print of an old poster. A wanted man. You couldn’t see much except the eyes, but she knew they were Jamie’s. She moved on to the last piece. It was a newspaper article stating the execution date of one Murtagh Fitzgibbons. Her hand moved to her mouth. “Oh, God.”

“That’s why Jamie went back. That’s why he left so abruptly.”

“Did he make it?” The papers shook in her hand as she trembled. 

“I haven’t been able to find any proof that the execution took place. No obituary, nothing. I sent Jamie back with pardons.”

Claire furrowed her brow. “Pardons?”

Frank nodded. “I showed him the article the night he left. The night you were supposed to meet him. He came over to be honest with me, he told me that he was going to tell you the truth, and he wanted me to hear the truth, but I had already uncovered much of it myself.” He hurried on as if he was losing his nerve. “I showed him the article, and told him that if my math was correct, he could save him if he left immediately. He was concerned about how he would free him, being a wanted man himself. I offered him a solution. I had a friend here that could replicate old documents, they look impressively authentic. All it took was a phone call, and a bit of money. I created a pardon from the King himself for Jamie and Murtagh.” He chuckled. “Actually, it was more Jamie’s idea than mine. He said: ‘I dinna suppose ye can create a pardon in this time?’” His accent left much to be desired. “That’s what sparked the idea.”

Though she didn’t remember him well, that sounded like Jamie. She smiled. Then she shook her head. She felt like she was going mad as she began to believe this impossibility, but the memories matched, the documents matched, the feelings matched.

He handed her another document, and she gasped when she read it. It was the deed, to another estate in Scotland, dated for twenty years after the first. “I— I go back?” she stuttered trying to comprehend.

“I suppose so.” Frank sounded resigned. “I don’t know when. I— I was punishing you for that as well. Punishing you for the past, and for the future. I— I am truly sorry Claire. I have so much regret.”

She ignored his plea for comfort, the tears stinging her eyes. “You said I didn’t abandon you, what did Jamie tell you about how I got there?”

Frank went on to paraphrase Jamie’s explanation of her falling through the stones and finding herself in his charge. He explained how they were forced into a marriage, but how it quickly turned into a true union. He mentioned Paris, but said that Jamie wanted to talk to her about that himself, when he came back. He explained why she had to go back, and how they both thought Jamie would die in that battle.

As he spoke, she remembered small bits of each moment. How Jamie fell off the horse behind her when he was injured, how hesitant she was at their wedding, the argument they had when Jamie was convincing her to go back to Frank. She ran her thumb over the wedding ring Jamie gave to her, still on her finger after all these years.

“Can I see the letter now, please?”

Frank nodded and handed over the letter and the box. Without another word, he left the room, allowing her privacy.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled the string box on the box. Inside was a necklace, much like the one he had given to Brianna, with a gem set in it. Placing it on the nightstand beside her, she opened the letter. 

_Claire,_

_It pains me to write the words that stir in my heart. I hope Frank explained why I cannae stay. Murtagh is in trouble, and will be hanged, because of me. I have to stop it. My regret is no’ holdin’ ye in my arms one last time before I go. I’m sorry ye dinna remember me, mo chridhe, or the life we lived. I dinna ken if it is a worse fate or no’. At least I have the memory of yer touch to comfort me in the darkness._

_I found ye, Claire, and I am glad of it. Ye gave me a child, and fer that alone, I owe ye my soul. Brianna is beautiful, and through her we will live forever, you and I._

_Perhaps this next bit willna make sense to ye, but if memories come back, I want ye to know that the people ye love are protected. With Frank’s help I may be able to travel about again, and make sure Fergus, Murtagh, Jenny, Ian, and the whole family will be safe and taken care of. I will be certain to remind them of how much ye loved them._

_I will find my way back to ye, Claire, I promise ye. Now ye have some time to think about what ye truly want. I am always yers to claim, Sassenach. It seems if time doesna keep us apart, circumstance will. But I willna have that. You are mine, mo nighean donn, mine. Now and forever. If ye’ll have me._

_There is so much more I need to tell ye, but there isna time. I’m sae sorry to no’ say goodbye to ye proper, but if ye asked me to stay, I wouldna be able to move. That would take more strength than I have. I dinna ken when I’ll see ye again, Sassenach, but if fate is kind to us, I’ll no’ have to wait long._

_I love you, Claire. I will never stop, no matter how much time passes. Please be safe, and tell Frank I’m grateful. Tell him I trust him. Tell him I hate him to the very marrow of his bones. I hope I dinna cause ye any more suffering. And if I have,_

She knew what was on the following page of the letter, the only part she had access to before. She could see Fergus’ face clearly in her mind now. She remembered scolding him as he shook, pulling him in to her chest to comfort him, desperate to take the pain from him. She ached for him now. She wanted to know if he was alright. She knew if Jamie had made it back, that he would be protected. She could hear his voice saying the words about Frank, he said them before he sent her back through the stones. Her vision was blurred with tears, but she could feel the warmth in his touch, and the rapid beating of her own heart. 

There was so much that was still blocked, but she was thankful for the fragments. There was finally confirmation that her and Jamie shared a life, and they loved each other. She allowed the relief and forgiveness of self soothe her, as she understood the circumstances that led her into Jamie’s arms. And the pull that kept her there. 


End file.
